


Born to Run

by Slybrarian



Series: Always Bold [2]
Category: Generation Kill, Star Trek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bar Room Brawl, Canon-Typical Violence, Dating, Dominion War (Star Trek), Leadership, M/M, Mission Fic, Road Trips, Space Marines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 07:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21370429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slybrarian/pseuds/Slybrarian
Summary: The first few months of the Dominion War are a blur of missions, training, and waiting. It's a good thing Ray's getting laid on the regular or he'd probably go nuts.In which there are language lessons that theoretically aren't cover for sex, a genetic throwback officer make an appearance, Ray becomes a role model and authority figure, people ride around in space humvees, and someone calls Nate a garbage scow. Trek fans know what I mean.
Relationships: Nate Fick/Ray Person
Series: Always Bold [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1498538
Comments: 31
Kudos: 57





	1. We Could Break This Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ray gets promoted, goes on a date, and immediately has his personal business shared by about five thousand gossips.

_USS Empress Matilda  
Stardate 50991.2_

For a while, Ray wondered if he'd imagined the whole thing. 

Not the mission. He'd gotten an entirely unwanted promotion out of that, spent about fifty thousand hours over the course of the next few days being debriefed by not just his own command structure but by intelligence and technical spooks, and he couldn't go ten feet without running into someone bragging about how many Cardies they'd shot up. 

No, he was thinking about the part at the end where the LT was like, "we should get dinner" with the implication that dinner would include getting laid. He had been running pretty low on energy by the point it happened, and minutes before had been flying an old Cardie rustbucket through a planetary ring system while being shot, which would make the best of men get a little loopy. He was not the best of men. That title was jointly held by Brad and Nate, not Ray. 

It doesn't help that he barely even saw Nate for a week. Their kick-off of the war went swimmingly on both land and in space, but apparently the rest of the Fleet was having a less than great time and most of the officers were spending time in meetings on the command deck jerking each other off or something, while the ship ran for somewhere a little safer for a mostly-unarmed transport to be as fast as its eighty-year-old warp engines could carry it. The only substantial amount of time they spent together was during one of the interviews with people wanting to get the nitty-gritty of their time in the guts of the Cardassian base, during which Nate mostly looked like he'd been recently gutted and one of their interrogators kept giving them strange looks. 

Honestly, Ray sometimes felt he should apologize in advance to any Betazoid he met. He had a hard enough time coping with the contents of his head. Exposing other people to it seemed like the mental equivalent of eating nothing but beans for a week. 

"You're acting really weird," Walt told him as they waited along with the rest of the platoon for a briefing ahead of an afternoon training exercise.

"You're acting really weird, Sergeant," Ray corrected. 

"I'm getting a promotion, too."

"Getting is not the same as has gotten." The doors at the front of the room and everyone started standing. Ray craned his neck to see around some of the meathead giants in front of him to get a glimpse as Brad and Nate walked in and took up positions at the podium. "Finally."

"It's like you've got a teenage crush on the LT. It's kind of sad, we haven't been in space so long than even officers start looking attractive."

"It looks like he's finally gotten some sleep," Ray said, pleased. 

"Oh, shit. You _do_. You dumb motherfucker."

"Alright, ladies and gents, take a seat," Nate said with a small wave. 

"He said settle the fuck down," Brad bellowed after they failed to comply within two seconds. 

"Mike never yelled at us," Ray muttered to Walt. "Neither did Brad when he was just a team leader. Power's gone to his head."

"I know we're all eager to get to this afternoon's training sim," Nate said with a fixed smile that suggested none of them would be eager once they heard what they were doing, "so I'll try to keep this short. We'll start with the good news. I imagine by now you've seen the promotions list for this month. Congratulations to everyone on it. You earned them." His eyes found Ray at the back. "And of course that applies to those individuals in this platoon and others who managed to skip to the front of the line."

"I think I speak for everyone, sir," Brad said, "when I say I'm fine not being grouped together with Sergeant Person."

In the front row, where the team leaders were sitting like the teacher's pets they were, Poke raised his hand. "Sir, you understand that as recon troopers, we are trained to be observant of our environment?"

"I am assured of this, yes."

"Did you think none of us would notice the extra gold pip on your collar?"

"I'll admit, I was hoping for that to pass with any particular fanfare. I would have been eligible for full lieutenant based on time in grade fairly soon, so taking away attention from those more deserving didn't seem necessary."

"I understand that in addition to the meritorious promotion, you were put in for the Pike Medal," Brad said. 

Nate shot him an exasperated look. "Lots of people have been nominated for things related to the Toros mission. Not all of them will end up going through."

"Let's hear it for everyone getting promoted, regardless of the timing."

As he waited for the cheers and clapping to die down, Nate looked like he couldn't decide whether he wanted to be appreciative or strangle Brad. After a minute he held up his hand and they obediently quieted down. 

"On a less happy note, a memorial service has been scheduled for this Saturday for everyone lost during the mission. If you have something to contribute, please let Master Sergeant Wynn know. That also brings us to some personnel matters." 

"We will be getting several new rangers fresh out of BRC, meaning our newly-minted Lance Corporal Christeson will no longer be the FNG," Brad said. "We will be spreading them across teams. If anyone would like to volunteer to babysit them, please do so before I am forced to do it for you."

Fuck. Ray was a sergeant now. Did that mean he'd be getting some goddamn PFC to mentor? Surely not when there was Walt or Chelle or literally anyone else except possibly Chaffin to choose from.

"Alpha got hit harder than we did," Nate added, "and there's a couple TL and assistant TL positions open." He looked at Ray momentarily again. "If anyone wants to be considered, let me know soon and I can pass that on to Lt. Patterson. Could be a good step up."

Was that some sort of signal? If so, what kind? Goddamnit it, Ray communicated with radios, not fucking eye-based telepathy like some people.

"Also, with Lt. lap Sokal KIA on Toros, Battalion is moving in a new platoon commander for Bravo Three. If you see him around, please make Lt. McGraw feel welcome."

"Why do I know that name?" Ray whispered to Walt.

"You probably sucked his cock in a restroom."

"I do have some self-respect, asshole. If I'm going to suck someone off in a restroom, they're going to be at least a lieutenant commander." Ray racked his brain and came up with a gormless lily-white face from one of the pre-mission intelligence briefings. "I think he's some fucking S-3 POG."

"Maybe he was infantry before that. They wouldn't put just anyone in charge of a recon platoon."

"I'll ask Brad, he'll have all the juicy deets from Kocher."

"Lastly," Nate continued, "I'm sure you're all aware of how fluid the front is. It's made it a bit hard for Starfleet Command to find us targets since we're constantly on the move. However, I am assured that they've finally decided to use us to take a little strain off the Fleeties. Final target selection is still in progress, but the possibilities have informed Brad's selection of today's exercise."

Brad grinned. "How do you all feel about swamps?"

In the silence that followed, the only thing that could be heard was Trombley whispering to Mrr'sha, "I got lost all day in one when I was ten."

Ray was proud of his place in both the Rangers and Recon, but there were times he wished he'd joined a service that was slightly less down-to-earth. A Tellarite super-heavy tank sounded nice right about then, or even Nate's idle idea about an exploration ship. 

Late that afternoon, as Ray staggered out of the locker room and pondered the string of choices that had lead him to this miserable point, he was surprised to find Nate leaning against the wall. Somehow, he didn't look at all like he'd just been dragged through kilometers of muck and mire. Even Brad had been looking a little bedraggled by the end. 

"You free tonight?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"To get something to eat."

"I'll have to check my jammed-packed social calendar, but if it means skipping the mess crowd, I could squeeze something in."

"Holodeck Six, 1745 sharp. Don't be late." Nate pushed off the wall and headed down the corridor.

Seventeen-fucking-fourty-five? That was barely half an hour away! How the fuck was Ray supposed to prepare for dinner or whatever the fuck this was in that amount of time?

"Really, really dumb motherfucker," Walt said when he voiced this complaint, safely out of earshot of anyone else. "I'm not touching this with a ten-meter pole."

"Fuck you. Where's Brad?"

"Ray, think this through a second and ask yourself if you really want to get him involved."

Ray did so, and decided that killing Brad by making him laugh himself to death would have a seriously negative impact on his ability to survive this fucking war. He sighed, went back to the sad-ass little cubicle of a room he shared with Walt now that they weren't just junior enlisted, and put on a fresh uniform. 

Inside Holodeck Six, Ray found a large grassy clearing in the middle of a generic temperate rainforest. Sitting on a big-ass blanket in the middle and fiddling with a portable stove was Nate. He was still in uniform, but he'd taken off the outer top layer, leaving just his green undershirt.

"Hey," Ray called. 

"Hey." Nate gestured at the stove and several dishes he had set out. "I promised you dinner."

"I was promised real barbeque or a functional equivalent."

"And I intend to fulfill that," Nate said, "but since the nearest restaurant is light-years away, consider this a down payment."

"Down payment?" Ray repeated. He settled down on the blanket and took a second to toss his own jacket aside. "How very Ferengi of you. What's cooking?"

"Brad told me you have a thing about real food," Nate said, "and the closest thing I could scrounge up was some mushroom stir-fry. Luckily, prodding things around inside a pan is about the limit of my skills anyway. You'll have to put up with replicated sides and synthehol wine."

"You're consulting Brad about how to put together a date?"

"I consult him about everything else. Compared to tactical plans, this is pretty low-risk."

Ray supposed that Brad could probably be trusted with his love life given that his life-life was routinely in his hands. He gestured around the forest. "How the fuck did you arrange this? I thought rec time on these things was booked solid and anything less than a six-man group didn't have a chance to get in for months."

"I have my ways."

"Just tell me you didn't sell your mouth for it."

"I promise no sexual favors were exchanged. Technically, the holodeck's in a maintenance cycle between small group exercises for the next forty-five minutes," Nate explained. "And technically, this program is a training course for minesweeping, so don't go into the woods."

Ray laughed. "I like it when you're a sneaky bastard, LT."

"No LT right now, Ray," Nate said as he started serving the stir fry. "Just Nate."

"What about sir?"

"Not on the first date."

"I'll pencil in the whips and chains for next time." Ray tried the food. They were certainly portobellos and certainly fried in some sort of ginger and sesame sauce. A very simple dish executed adequately well. "This is great."

"Are you sure?" Nate said, eyeing his own plate skeptically. "It tastes a little one-note. I managed to find fresh vegetables, but I had to scam the sauce base off a guy over on the _Kilimanjaro_ and it's stronger than I expected."

"I'll admit, I may be judging on a curve here, but you definitely get an E for effort."

"I suppose if I have to be graded like a kindergartner on something," Nate replied, "cooking is a better option than most things in my life."

"I'm sure you'll manage to bring up the final score on this date with a spectacular performance at the end."

"You're being awfully bold in assuming there's going to be a performance at the end."

"Isn't that how these things go? We have dinner, we maybe talk for a couple minutes, then we bang."

"What if I don't put out on the first date?"

"Nate, we're infantry. Of course we're looking to score on the first date. Especially under these circumstances! We're in a war. If this shit-ass excuse for a ship runs into a Jem'hadar squadron and one gets past our depressingly small escort, we could all die tonight. Are you going to deny me one last chance to get off in the company of something other than my own right hand?"

"You could try your left."

"Nah, I need that to play with my balls."

Nate hid his smile behind his wine glass and managed to mostly get his lecture face on by the time he put it back down. "That's not how these things usually go for me. Fortunately, I was assured that if I used small words and short sentences, I may be able to explain how romantic dinners typically work. For example, they're generally considered a good chance to get to know the other person, which is useful if you could have sex anytime you want but are looking for something that involves interpersonal interactions."

"You're gonna have to dumb that down a little more."

"I'm trying to do some recon, not just get laid." Nate held out his hand. "Hi. I'm Nate. I work for the government. I like long walks in the forest, classical literature, and phased energy weapons."

"I'm Ray. I'm a professional killer. I'm a fan of sex, unnecessary amounts of homoerotic behavior, and blowjobs in holographic forests."

"I already knew all that."

"I'm from a part of Earth that was considered backwards even before it decided that a nuclear war was a good reason to eternally freeze its technological progress in the computer age. We're the last bastion of just about every dubious cultural phenomena to ever come out of North America, from country music to action films, plus the mutant results of three centuries of inbreeding it all together."

Nate grinned. "You still have to share some of that quality cinema."

"When we get a whole day off, I'll show you what my gran calls the holy trilogy. Maybe the prequels too."

"I'll see if we can fit that in between planetary assaults."

Ray made sure to lick the last of the sauce from his plate, because while it wasn't that great he really did want to express his gratitude for the gesture. Once Nate was done laughing in disbelief, he said, "Mind if I ask a question?"

"Shoot."

"In the briefing earlier, what was up with that look you gave me when you talked about transfers? Trying to get rid of me already?"

"Not at all. I just wanted you to know the opportunity was there. And everyone else, but especially you."

"You're not suddenly freaking out about being my CO, are you? 'Cause I thought part of the spark was that we worked well together."

"No freak outs here." Nate shrugged. "The first thing I did while laid up in the infirmary was review all the regulations about sexual fraternization."

"Really." Ray knew them back and forward, although the parts about how to get approval to fuck newly discovered species was the most familiar. He'd wanted to be prepared in case it ever came up. 

"And then read a few guides to relationships with a rank differential."

"I'm starting to rethink whether I want to date, fuck, or otherwise interact with a huge nerd."

"More of a nerd than Brad?"

Ray put his hand on his chest. "Brad and I bond over technology. He didn't go to a fucking liberal arts college and major in classics."

"In my defense, classics includes studying the cultures from dozens of worlds, making it very useful for someone in a profession that requires understanding the mindsets of diverse species so that I can kill them more efficiently."

"Okay, I'll give you that much."

"Legally, I have to avoid showing favoritism or doing anything that might even appear coercive. But personally, I'm assured it's best if I make sure you've got options and let you take the lead on what your comfort level is."

"I'd be more comfortable if we were making out instead of having this conversation."

"Focus, Ray."

"So, what, your idea of options is moving me to Alpha in case we decide this doesn't work and it gets awkward?"

Nate shook his head. "If we did crash and burn, I'd try to get transferred. You and Brad were a team before I got here."

"Christ. Can you imagine how he'd react if he found out you were talking about him like he was a dog and we were negotiating post-breakup custody?"

"You said it, not me."

"You know, there's a way to avoid saying things that might make the Iceman kill us both for insulting his dignity."

"Does it involve my mouth on your cock?"

"Or vice versa!"

To Ray's surprised, Nate pushed him down onto the blanket and knelt between his knees. He undid the fly of his pants and then tugged them and his boxers down to thigh level. Ray gasped as Nate's lips wrapped around his cock. He quickly demonstrated that every joke anyone had ever made about those lips were absolutely true. Ray laid back and enjoyed that wet suction as it went on and on, Nate showing that being trained to hold your breath for four minutes had more than just tactical value. Ray gave out before Nate did, his balls tensing up and then emptying their load into Nate's throat.

After a few dozen seconds of post-orgasmic bliss, Ray realized that Nate had opened his own fly and was jerking it. Ray put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a little shove so that he fell onto his side.

"Oh, hell, no," Ray said. "Let me help you with that."

He spent a few minutes demonstrating that his mouth was good for more than just fast talking. Nate was a loud one, moaning as Ray went down on him and eventually biting his knuckles to keep from crying out too loudly as he came into Ray's mouth. 

"I want to say," Ray said against Nate's mouth, "that I usually last longer than that. It's just been a long dry spell."

"I'm assured of this," Nate replied huskily. 

Being the backwards motherfuckers they were, that was the point where they started cuddling and making out with long, languid kisses. They had their priorities straight, like true rangers. Get your rocks off first, then make with the affection.

"Okay, zip up," Nate said after a few minutes of post-coital bliss. He sat up and reached for his uniform top. "Our time's almost done."

"Ugh." Ray awkwardly climbed to his feet and yanked his pants back into position. "Not that I don't love a quickie, but being on a timer takes some of the fun out of it."

"Computer, wet cloth." Nate accepted the hankie that materialized and used it to wipe something from the corner of Ray's mouth. "Consider it incentive to get this war over with as fast as possible. Then we'll have plenty of time to take it slow."

"Solid copy, Nate."

"So my plan," Nate said as they exited the holodeck and started walking along toward the stairs like normal people, "is to be discreet and keep how we act in public and private separate. It'll be easier to stay professional that way."

"I have no problem with that," Ray agreed. "I'm surrounded by a bunch of vicious motherfuckers who will pounce on any reason to mock and belittle each other. I don't need to give them extra ammo."

Nate gave him a sharp look. "Think that's going to be a problem?"

"Not really. I mean, for one thing, I'm not sure they can actually fit in any more mockery without having to take away other insults. For another, it really doesn't matter who or what I'm fucking. Or dating. We give Poke shit for being married, Walt shit for being sweet on some mystery girl, and Brad shit for refusing to fuck anyone more than once."

They walked along until they reached the stairs, where Ray needed to turn to head down for the barracks levels and Nate the opposite way to the officer quarters.

"Ray, one last thing," Nate said before they split up. "Since you've been promoted, Brad and I signed you up for a few advanced courses. The NCO primer, a second language, some more flight training, infowar, that sort of thing. They're technically self-guided, but Brad'll make sure you get squeezed into the holodeck schedule. You may need to focus to keep up."

"Gee, thanks, LT," Ray said. "Just what I wanted to do in my free time."

"You're welcome." He fucking winked and started climbing up to the next deck. 

Ray sighed and retreated down to the platoon common room. Most of the other guys were just filtering back from their own suppers. On one of the back tables, Walt and Mrr'sha were setting up a card game, and because Ray had neither good sense or anything better to do he joined them. 

"Where did you go?" Mrr'sha asked. Lilley sat down across from her.

"I got waylaid by the LT," Ray explained. "He and Brad signed me up for a bunch of training shit, and he wanted to talk some of it over while pretending I had a choice in the matter."

"That sucks, brah," Lilley said. 

"Yeah, it really does, but I guess that's what comes with getting promoted."

"Training, you say," Mrr'sha said, nostrils flaring and tail twitching back and forth over her shoulder.

"Yep. Turns out I need to know how to be a leader if I'm going to be an authority figure. Like, the manual says that if I see some poor sap," Ray nodded at Walt, "on my team about to get his ass kicked, I should come help him out. So here I am, ready to support his latest failure at being a card sharp."

"Fuck you, man."

For a while, Ray thought that was enough to throw people off the scent. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy. He should have also known that it would take all of twenty seconds after one person knew for everyone to know. Two people. Three. Whatever, one person other than Walt or Brad. This failure of imagination was how he got ambushed while eating his breakfast. 

One minute they were talking about whether they'd prefer to recon Planet Swamp or Planet Desert. The next, Trombley asked, "So is it true you fucked the LT?" 

Ray's eyes about bulged out of their sockets while he tried not to choke on his oatmeal. "What the fuck? Why would you ask that?"

"Mrr'sha said you smelled like him last night," Trombley said, "and you always look really smug when you get laid."

"What?" Ray said once again.

Walt nodded. "You do."

"Fuck you, I do not."

Fucking Espera chose that moment to sit down beside Ray. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Person? Three thousand people on this ship, eighty percent of them honest working men and women, and you go and fuck an officer? Fucking disgraceful. I hope you at least got something out of selling your ass to the oppressor class."

"Is it any different than fucking a regular person?" Trombley asked, by all appearances entirely sincere. "It seems like it would be different."

"That's it, I'm sitting with people who aren't assholes," Ray declared. He stood up and searched the mess, locating his target with the speed befitting his highly trained recon skills. He made his way over to a corner table where Brad and Kocher were leaning close together and gossiping like little girls and sat down while ignoring their fuck-off glares.

"Ray," Brad said, "just because you're a sergeant doesn't mean you can interrupt senior NCOs having a conversation."

"Just because you're a senior NCO doesn't mean you can sign me up for a class on small craft piloting, but apparently that happened. I went into the infantry for a reason, you know."

"It actually does," Kocher said. 

"Whatever. So I figured out where I know your boy McGraw from. He's one of the intel pukes who told me to kill myself to avoid capture. Only in his case it wasn't to safeguard any Starfleet secrets in my head. He had a long list of horrible things the Cardies would do to me."

Kocher's expression suggested he was already aware of his new commander's dubious emotional stability. "Lt. T'kel says a permanent replacement should be coming with the other new guys."

"For what it's worth," Ray said in his best attempt to be comforting, "at the time the LT said he had some interesting things to say about Cardassian architecture. If we have to sneak through another base, he's definitely your guy."

Kocher did not look comforted. "Excuse me if I question his judgement about other people given his recent choices."

"Eric," Brad said in that deceptively mild tone he got when he was considering murder, "please refrain from taking out your frustrations with your lieutenant by making unwarranted remarks about mine."

"Sorry."

"Does everyone on this ship know?" Ray asked. 

"Just our company's enlisted so far, although I wouldn't expect that to last," Brad said, waving out at where said ingrates were mingling with not just the rest of the battalion enlisted but people from all the other units aboard. "Plus Mike. Lt. T'kel. The battalion XO and counsellor. Probably Sixta. Possibly even Godfather himself."

"_What?_"

"You didn't think Fick of all people was going to skip the required paperwork, did you?"

"Fuck!"

Because the universe hated Ray, or because Nate had cursed them with eternal bad luck by his constant tempting of fate, it was naturally at that moment there was a tap on his shoulder and a Texan drawl.

"Just the gentlemen I was looking for," Mike said, sitting down with a tray full of fried food. He slid a PADD at Ray and another at Brad. "Fill those out."

"Mine's already in your inbox," Brad said. 

"Starfleet has to ruin fucking everything," Ray muttered. Right in the middle of the screen were the words 'sexual intercourse'. "It even takes the fun out of fucking."

"At least y'all can't knock each other up," Mike groused. "Seems like dealing with that's half my life."

"Probably can't," Brad corrected. "Stranger things have happened in space."

Ray scowled. "Don't say that, Brad, I'm trying to be the first person in my family for generations who got married before getting pregnant."

"Gettin' a little ahead of yourself there," Mike said. "Pretty sure the LT will come to his senses long before that happens."

"Brad," Ray said, "since I'm a sergeant, am I allowed to tell him to fuck off now?"

"He still outranks you too much to be a peer, and you'll never catch up before he retires. In order for you to say that without getting a shitkicking that would leave you even more bucktoothed than you already are, you'd have to give in to the lieutenant's suggestion that you become a warrant officer. Or an officer officer."

"Fuck me," Kocher muttered. "That'd be even worse than McGraw."

"I would be an amazing officer," Ray insisted, "but they said they don't let people like me into Starfleet Academy where I might corrupt vulnerable young minds."

Too late Ray remembered Brad and Mike were among the few people who'd seen his aptitude scores and the stupid letter from the Academy recruitment office basically begging him to apply instead of wasting his life as a gun-toting enlisted goon. 

"Just make sure you don't corrupt Fick," Mike said. "Man's got a future ahead of him."

Ray wanted to grumble about how no one ever thought about his future, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. Not only did Nate seem like one of those rising stars destined for greatness, but he knew the moment he opened his mouth Brad would point out that the two of them were forcing Ray to take classes precisely because they did think Ray could be more than a scrawny fuckup. 

After breakfast Ray spent two hours being thrown around the gym as Brad continued his despair-filled quest to teach him suus manah, a Vulcan martial art that he claimed would work better for a shorter guy like him. Then there was quality time with the sergeant's manual and the first chapter of the electronic warfare textbook, because in addition to beating the shit out of him Brad had informed him he had his first holo-practicals already booked and he needed to have all the reading portions done by the next week, regardless of whether or not they might be getting shot at in the interim.

It all gave him a good excuse to wander up to visit the LT. He didn't even have a proper office, just a small space with enough room for a desk and a chair separated from the other half of his quarters by a curtain. His little single bed even doubled as a couch, because while Explorer Corps cruised around in flying hotels the Rangers were stuck firmly in the twenty-third century.

"Come in, Sergeant," Nate said when he spotted him standing at the open door. "What can I do for you?"

"First off, this textbook is shit," Ray said, waving a PADD around. "It hasn't been updated for at least three years and there's an entire new generation of adaptive transmitters out. Second, I hope your idea of discretion included everyone on the ship knowing, because they do."

Nate shrugged. "If you have critiques, by all means, submit them when you get to the feedback form at the end. As for the latter, I'll admit that this went slightly faster than expected - but only slightly."

"Because we're surrounded by busybodies?"

"Because we're Recon and trained to observe things."

"So like I said."

"Nate! Nate, have you seen this?" A panicked lieutenant came storming in the door, waving a PADD. "They're sending us to Kordath. Kordath!"

"I saw it."

"This is going to be a shitshow! This isn't a Maquis base we can just walk into, these are Cardassians!"

"Dave, this is Sergeant Person," Nate said in an impressively even tone. "Sergeant, you might remember Lt. McGraw."

McGraw gave him a handshake best described as limp and moist. "Nice to meet you, I just wish it wasn't before we're all going to die in a rainforest."

"Calm down," Nate said. "I've looked the terrain over, it's actually easier than what my last mission was like. Right, Sergeant?"

"Oh yeah. No mountains at all."

Nate nodded, so apparently that was the right answer. "See? We'll be in and out before the Cardassians even know we're there."

"I hope you're right, Nate. I hope you're right." McGraw stormed away muttering.

"I take back what I said earlier," Ray said after a minute of stunned silence. "There is probably one person on this ship unaware that we're fucking."

"It's a temporary appointment. I am assured of this."

"The sooner he goes back to whatever he did in Intel, the better. How bad does this Kordath place seem?"

"Wet, but compared to the last mission not bad. It's a basic look-and-smash op. Get in, observe the target for a day, throw a few mortar rounds at it and run away. We shouldn't have a problem."

"And that's going to stop the Dominion advance," Ray said skeptically. 

"It will materially reduce their supply chain's integrity and force them to redeploy ground forces currently intended for frontier invasions."

"So we're a glorified distraction. Brad must be thrilled."

"Better than sitting around. This isn't the sort of war won on the ground. Not yet. They'll find something juicy for us. When they do, we'll probably wish they hadn't."

"Well, obviously. When have we ever not bitched about being too active or not active enough?"

Nate tipped his head in acknowledgement. "Anything else I can help you with? Sergeant."

"Well, as a sergeant, no," Ray said. He hesitated, then added, "Actually, since I'm here, this language shit. What do you think I should choose?"

"Cardassian was useful back on Toros," Nate said. "But I've got that covered pretty well. Personally, I'd go Klingon. We'll probably be working with them a lot, and you know how much they hate universal translators."

"Okay."

"That's just to start, of course. Once you've got one down, you should do another. It's a lot like learning to shoot, the first is the hardest."

"Fuck my life." It was enough to make Ray hope someone shot him.

"Maybe Dominion Common," Nate suggested. "I'm thinking of starting on it. We could practice together. Actually, my Klingon is a little rusty, I could probably use a partner to work on that, too."

On second thought, maybe there was something to be said for being a polyglot.


	2. Out on the Wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is training for a mission in space humvees, and shit trickles downhill to Ray. Shit being a newbie he's supposed to lead. Also, he gets laid, so that's a nice change.

_USS Empress Matilda  
Stardate 51041.6_

Kordath went pretty well. No one even shot at them, because by the time the Cardies realized there were Starfleet Rangers snooping around they were too busy trying to put out all the fires to chase the company down. The same went for a week staring at the spaceport on Arawath Colony and recording how many shipments of bullshit were going through. 

Ray figured that the third time would be the charm, and boy was he ever right. 

Alpha and Beta companies were being sent to the Cardie planet Vodoroth, while Charlie off doing some actual recon and the recently-arrived reservist dipshits of Delta were still settling in and getting used to this whole 'war' thing. Vodoroth was one of those arid worlds like Vulcan where there was a lot of desert and scrubland. It had a lot of wide open spaces that were mostly uninhabited, as even the Cardies didn't particularly want to live there and wouldn't if it weren't for various mineral deposits that were worth the effort. Said deposits were why Starfleet wanted to drop a couple of fast and stealthy companies to roam around blowing shit up and then run away before reinforcements from offworld could arrive.

Since even Recon troops couldn't run at a hundred klicks an hour, they were breaking out the scout skimmers.

Skimmers were a common antigrav vehicle which, as the name implied, skimmed a meter or two above the surface. The difference between the scout version and a proper combat car, much less a tank, was that it was fucking useless in battle. Oh, it was very convenient. It was basically a skimpy framework that held the essential pieces in place, covered with flexible plastic panels, which could collapse into a package about three by two by one meters on a side. A troop runabout could easily fit the six or seven you needed to carry a platoon without impinging on the space for said platoon and supplies. Its armaments consisted of a single top-mounted phaser cannon or munitions launcher, plus whatever rifles the poor saps inside had, and its shields might stop a couple of rifle shots if you were lucky. A proper tank or APC could blast one to scrap in about two seconds. They were also cramped and smelled terrible even before you had to spend days inside them. 

About the only good thing you could say about them was that they were fast as fuck and hard to detect on scanners, even before you added in the sensor jammers a couple carried. Nate's slightly larger command and supply vehicle also had a transport inhibitor to keep reinforcements from beaming in.

There was enough warning about the mission for a few days of practice in the holodeck. This let Ray start hating Vodoroth and its ugly pink grass and too-hot weather a week in advance.

"Not having Brad riding with us feels weird," Ray complained as he and Walt supervised Mrr'sha and Trombley's efforts to correctly unfold the skimmer and lock its components into place. 

The last time they'd used skimmers had been a single mission against some crazy Maquis cowboy assholes, right when the LT had just joined the platoon. Back then, Brad had been their team leader and Mike was platoon sergeant. Now those assholes had been promoted, leaving Poke in charge of Team One and, due to the timing of his promotion, Ray of all people in charge of their victor. It was a fucking nightmare and almost certainly part of Nate's plot to turn him into a responsible authority figure.

"Ray, y'all keep using that word, but I don't think you understand the irony," Walt said.

"I'm just saying, I feel like me and Brad are drifting apart. We used to do everything together. Now he's off being all leaderly and shit."

"You talk every single day. I think you spend more time with him than my mom and dad do."

"I should fucking hope your mom and dad aren't spending time with Brad, we're in a war zone."

"My point is that if I didn't know better, I'd think he was the one you're fucking."

Ray let out his most offended scoff. "He hangs out more with Poke than me, and no one would think they're screwing."

"That's because they're best friends."

"Excuse me?" Ray was now annoyed he'd already used maximum offended.

Walt shrugged. "Besides, Poke and Dr. Espera have, like, rules about what and who they do while he's deployed. I don't think Brad's allowed."

"Brad has a rule against fucking people he'll ever see again."

"Sergeant!" Trombley called. "We've got it ready to go."

"Okay, now load up the water and gear."

"Aren't you going to help?"

"I'm a sergeant. An old man. If I try to lift those jugs, I'll throw out my back." Ray shook his head and said sadly to Walt, "Kids these days have no work ethic."

As the children prepared their holographic chariot to depart, Poke came up, with the universe's beefiest PFC in tow. 

"Sergeant Person, this is PFC Veda Laras," Poke said. She was a Bajoran about Poke's height and skin color, and probably weighed as much as Ray and Walt put together. "She'll be riding with you guys for this mission. Veda, this is Sergeant Person. Because I finally crossed some line and managed to offend Staff Sergeant Colbert with my jokes about his heritage, he's in charge of my lead vehicle."

"Hi," Walt said, shaking her hand. "Welcome to the team."

"Sergeant Espera, could I have just one tiny little moment of your time?" Ray asked. He put his arm over Poke's shoulders, and then just as quickly removed it before Poke could bite it off like he clearly wanted to. "Poke. Tony. My pal. My buddy. What the fuck?"

"Every team's getting at least one newbie," Poke said with a shrug. "She's gotta sit somewhere."

"That doesn't mean you need to stick her with me! I'm not a fucking role model."

"Dawg, I suppose I could tell you that the Iceman said you had the best chance of keeping her alive long enough to be useful," Poke said, "or that the LT thought you're so good at teaching him unholy carnal knowledge that you'd be just as good passing on mad recon skills. Fact is, your victor has an open seat, mine doesn't, and I ain't giving you Gabe back because then she might end up speaking like Lilley and I can only deal with one of him."

"This is bullshit."

"Bullshit is me having to be responsible for you. It's just a cycle of violence. Colbert moves up and hands me a giant pain in the ass in the shape of a white boy who doesn't know when to shut up, so in turn I hand you an even bigger one. If you live long enough to be in charge of anything, you'll do it to some other sucker."

"Thanks, Sergeant," Ray said. "That's real uplifting."

"If you want to hear about how we get what we deserve in life, go talk to Rudy. I'm just laying down the facts."

Ray stalked back to his partial team. "Right. Walt, you're in charge of the newbie. Trombley, don't speak to her at all."

Trombley frowned. "What did I do?"

"Exist." Ray turned to Veda. "Can you drive?"

"Yes, Sergeant," she replied, looking between him and Trombley like she thought maybe he was joking. She'd learn soon enough.

"Okay. We'll test that out during this sim. I'll take shotgun so I can focus on commscan. Trombley, you stay put." Psycho or not, having him cover the FNG's side made sense. "Walt, you're right door. Mrr'sha, turret."

"You're taking me off the main gun?" Walt protested. "What the fuck?"

"The last time we did this, you bitched for a thousand kilometers about your legs getting cramped." Ray pointed at Mrr'sha. "And do you think this gigantic pussy is going to fit inside the cab?"

"Are you calling me fat, Sergeant?" Mrr'sha asked.

"Jesus titty-fucking Christ, it is the twenty-fourth century. No one makes fat jokes anymore. Update your insulting humor a little."

"So are you from one of the refugee settlements or Bajor itself?" Trombley asked. "I bet you really want to kill some Cardies either way."

"What did I say about talking to her?"

"It's not like I called them spoonheads."

"You know," Walt said, "I'm actually really glad you have a month in grade over me and this isn't my shitshow."

"Whatever. You're my deputy assistant team leader, so it's your shitshow too."

"That ain't a thing."

The platoon spent several hours rampaging across various types of scrubland, desert, and prairie to familiarize themselves with their new skimmers. No one managed to flip themselves over, although Lilley did accidentally slide sideways down an almost vertical incline, much to Ray's delight. He was less delighted when Mrr'sha managed to jam their variable munitions launcher and nearly blew them to simulated hell trying to unfuck the feed mechanism. It was almost enough to make Ray be willing to put up with a cranky cat at his back if it meant having someone familiar with an ammunition-based ballistic weapon up top. 

Once the exercise was called and the skimmers were all properly parked in an outward-facing star, they got a chance to finally dismount and stretch their legs. 

"Looks like someone's coming for a booty call," Walt said, nodding at where Nate and Brad were striding from Poke's victor towards their own. 

"What do you mean?" Veda asked.

"Person is fucking the boss," Trombley said. 

"What, both of them?"

"No, not both of them," Ray snapped. "Jesus. Do I look like I can handle that?"

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "Earth boys are famously slutty."

"I fucking hate you all. What can we do for you, LT?"

Nate had his notepad and the red pen of criticism out. "Nice driving, Private. Ray, any trouble with the sensor systems?"

"Nah. Assuming that the simulated version works the same as the real thing. I want to get my hands on it for some live tests."

"Brad'll make sure you get a chance. Take Rudy and Orex so they can check theirs too. What happened at the eighty-minute mark where you stopped firing?"

"Mark Ninety-One jammed. We'll get it sorted."

Brad nodded and said, "They're a little tricky if you're used to using a heavy beam like a Type-Four. Hasser'll get you sorted, Corporal."

"Ray, we're doing victor commander debrief in five. Then after you get showered, I need you up in Conference Six at 1530 sharp. Don't be late."

"Aye, sir." 

"I can see the attraction," Veda said, admiring the view as their intrepid leaders moved on to talk with Pappy. "Even if he is an officer. Isn't that kind of weird?"

"That's what I said," Trombley told her. 

"Walt, show Corporal Kitty how to fix the launcher without getting fur in the lube or whatever the fuck happened," Ray ordered. "Trombley... demonstrate how this all folds up or something useful."

"I thought I wasn't allowed to talk to her."

"Great, now even he's sassing me. How the fuck did Brad not kill us all?"

Ray went off to the debrief. At least there he was very comfortably the low man on the totem pole as Nate talked with the team leaders about what they had and hadn't fucked up. Ray stood quietly as they talked about tactics and whatnot, only piping a few times to answer direct questions and briefly extemporize on why the Type-40 Mod C mobile ground sensor unit was kind of shit unless you tweaked it a little.

"Why are you being so quiet?" Brad asked at the end, with what Ray thought was a wholly unearned degree of suspicion.

"Why, Bradley! After years of telling me to shut the fuck up, I would think you'd be glad that I've finally done so. I was simply basking in the wisdom of those much more experienced and wiser in the ways of maneuver combat than myself."

"Right. That seems entirely plausible. Go shower, and make sure you wear a clean uniform to this meeting. _Shipboard_, not field."

Ray rolled his eyes but did as ordered, even going so far as to show up early enough that he was the first to arrive. He took a seat at the conference table and waited. After a few minutes Nate and Brad also arrived.

"Good work on the sim today," Nate said. In Klingonese, because of course he did. "Tony thinks the new private will fit in well."

"Was that your fault?" Ray asked, stubbornly sticking to Federation Standard like a proper American. Nate waited patiently until he finally repeated in the correct language, "Your fault was that?"

"It was his idea, but I approved it. You need to learn to lead now that you a spear-master of warriors. Think of it as a child-leap toward your future as a war-thane."

"All glory to you, honorable war-master."

Nate winced and switched back to Standard. "Yeah, we're definitely working on your word choices, because that didn't mean what I think you intended."

Brad took in a deep breath and let out a long, loud sigh. 

"Have you ever noticed," Ray said, "that the only people more passive-aggressive than Vulcans are humans raised on Vulcan?"

"It's an interesting hypothesis, but I don't think I've had enough examples of the latter to make a comparison."

The door hissed open and three people walked in: a human goldshirt lieutenant commander, a Tellarite chief petty officer in red, and Admiral Soltani, the same flag officer who'd sent them off on their great cross-country getting-stabbed adventure.

"Don't stand up," she said in her smokey voice, heading straight for the head of the table. "I don't have time to waste on formalities."

"Yes, ma'am," Nate said. 

"You have already been informed of the upcoming mission to Vodoroth?"

"We have."

"Good, that means I don't have to repeat all that extraneous detail." She hit a few keys built into the table and a display at the other end of the room light up. "We have a side mission for you. While most of Recon will be rampaging about the countryside hitting mining installations, you will also be participating in an intelligence-gathering operation. Terese?"

The goldshirt sat up a little straighter. "Dominion comms technology primarily makes use of certain gamma-band subspace frequencies, mostly between forty-seven and two hundred megahertz. Cardassian military comms run from one-fifty to four hundred. This leaves a relatively small overlap and we have identified vulnerabilities within the protocols they have established to allow their encryption systems to talk to each other. With properly positioned listening devices, we can potentially tap into their secure data links."

"For technical reasons too boring and irrelevant to go into, they can't be dropped in space. They must be planted on worlds of interest," Soltani said. "It must be done with precision, care, and subtlety - things Recon is famous for, which is fortunate, since most of our special forces infiltrators are rather busy with sabotage and mayhem much further behind the lines."

"So you want us to deliver these devices?" Nate asked.

Soltani shrugged. "You two," she gestured toward Nate and Brad, "can do whatever the fuck you want. Sergeant Person is the one we're interested. However, having him putter around by himself would be neither safe nor efficient, and I understand you're joined at the hip these days, so I may as well take the whole package."

Nate started turning an interesting shade of red. "I see, ma'am."

"You'll need to do final calibrations for the listening devices based on local conditions at each site," Lt. Commander Terese No-last-name said to Ray. "We're not confident we can automate it yet."

"Why me and not literally anyone?" Ray said. 

"You did a great job on Toros," she replied. "We were all really impressed over in SigInt. Also, we're not actually allowed to go on missions where we might get captured."

"Thanks, I think."

"This is something of a trial run," Soltani said. "If it works, you'll advise R&D on any changes needed, and teach people in your other companies how to do this as well."

"Fortunately the sergeant has been working on his leadership skills, ma'am," Brad said dryly. "How does this change our mission route and timing?"

"Also, ma'am, have Lt. T'kel and the rest of our command structure been briefed?" Nate added. 

"Ferrando has made her aware that you have extra mission objectives, but not the details. Those should not leave this room," Soltani said. "Secrecy is vital."

Ray grimaced. "Is someone going to tell me to vaporize my head again?"

"If it's not too much trouble," the Tellarite rumbled. 

"No, I love planning how to commit suicide."

"I'm not surprised, given what a sorry excuse for a person you are."

It took Ray a moment to remember that being an asshole was a national sport on Tellar. "Does that pun work in your language?"

"Your name sounds like that of a small, furry vermin commonly found in sewers."

"Funny, you look like something I'd have for supper back home."

"If you're done flirting, Chief," Soltani said, "answer the staff sergeant's question about where they need to be and when. Then Terese can cover the technical part."

It looked like they wouldn't be straying too far from the original plan, which was part of the point, Ray supposed. If a half-dozen Recon platoons were rampaging around burning shit to the ground, any extra stops Second made while no one was looking would go unnoticed. 

"Comments?" Soltani said once they were done.

Nate and Brad looked at each other briefly, although Ray was starting to get wise to their telepathic bullshit; he was pretty sure they'd been tapping out messages to each other the entire time via touch-talk. 

"The extra distance alone is going to add at least thirty minutes to our return to the LZ," Brad said.

"Sergeant Person?" Nate said. "How long will your part take?"

Ray would have shrugged and spewed some bullshit, but he was in front of an admiral so he didn't. "Hard to say. Ten, fifteen minutes each? It might go faster after the first couple, but it's going to depend a lot on local conditions. We'll need to do some practice runs."

"It seems doable," Nate told Soltani. "There's time built into the existing schedule for trouble. It'll be close, though, and if there are any problems - vehicle malfunction, a prolonged firefight, even weather - we'll start having to push back our dustoff time. I understand there's concerns about Dominion ships catching our runabouts on the trip back as it is."

"That's about what we expected," she replied. "Game it out, run your practice simulations as many times as you need. If existing objectives need adjusted, it can be done. We need this intelligence. I don't need to remind anyone what happened to the Fourth Fleet last week."

A hundred-odd ships had been protecting Minos Korva. By the end of the Dominion assault, forty had been left.

"Yes, ma'am. We'll make it happen."

"I'm sure you will. Full technical and operational briefings will be tomorrow morning, and we'll get you the relevant files immediately. My chief of staff will be in touch. Good luck and good hunting, gentlemen."

"This is what happens," Ray said once she and her staff had left the room, "when you say how much you want to help the war effort."

"What do you think, Brad?" Nate asked. "This one bullshit too?"

"Honestly?" Brad shook his head. "No mountains. No two-man infiltration mission. Skimmers for mobility and extra firepower. The vague possibility of relief if there's problem. No, this is not only a legit recon mission, but compared to the last it's a walk in the park."

"The last was literally a walk in the park," Ray pointed out. "He got stabbed."

"I got better," Nate said. "And I'm very satisfied with the long-term benefits of those events."

"My ass is pretty nice, but I'm not sure it's worth getting shanked over."

"Your mouth might be. Speaking of - I'm supposed to talk over some stuff with Dave during dinner, but Klingon practice afterwards?"

"Sure. What's Captain Federation got up his ass now?"

"Captain Federation?" Nate repeated slowly. "People call him that?"

"Yep," Brad said. "Started a couple days after he arrived."

Ray nodded. "Tallish, blond, fights for freedom. It's one of those literary terms you keep trying to teach me - juxtapositional irony."

"Hard as it is to believe, it's not even Ray's fault."

"Actually, I don't want to know," Nate said, standing up, "or want to hear it again. Especially not in public."

Ray chuckled and shook his head. "That shuttle's left the station."

"Sergeant Person, please assure me that you will not use that name in front of your junior enlisted."

"What?"

"It's a bad example and creates friction between the platoons." Nate gave him a pleading puppy-dog look that would be a lot more believable if Ray hadn't seen him shoot a Jem'hadar right in the face once. "Come on, Ray, do it for me."

As if Ray could be swayed by a mere expression after living alongside Walt for ages. "Hey, no, you don't get to tell me to act like we're not fucking in public and also tell me to do you favors."

"It's not a favor, it's your part of your job now."

"It's right there in the NCO manual," Brad agreed mildly. "You have been reading it, right?"

"You're the one I heard it from first!" Ray protested.

"Brad," Nate said, "I am very disappointed in the example you are setting for the junior NCOs of this platoon."

"I've found, sir, that life is often very disappointing. I'm simply helping you acculturate to that fact."

"I'm starting to see why you guys always say you miss Mike," Nate said. "I'm going to go talk with him and T'kel. Hopefully by the time I'm done, I can keep a straight face while convincing McGraw we're not rolling into a death trap."

"Try slipping some downers in his drink!" Ray called as he left the room. 

"Come on," Brad said. "We've got a while before our slot in the mess rotation. Plenty of time for a few rounds of sparring."

"Fuck." It never stopped with these assholes. If Nate wasn't trying to improve his brain, Brad was being obsessed with is body.

"But seriously," Ray said late that night, while snuggling up against Nate at the end of a long session of conjugal conjugating. Both of them were down to their underwear, which was more than they'd had on earlier. "What the fuck is wrong with that man?"

"Who, Kolvath?" Nate asked. He had one hand tangled in Ray's hair and the other held a PADD, although Ray was pretty sure he was declaiming from memory. "He's pretty normal, for a L'Rel-era warship captain. Much better poet than most. One day you'll appreciate what he's doing with the kennings here."

"No, Captain Federation."

Nate groaned, tossed his PADD aside, and gently hit the back of his head against the wall several times. "You people are going to be the death of me."

"He's going to be the death of all of us if he freaks out at the wrong time," Ray corrected. 

"Not everyone's meant for infantry. He really was better in Intel."

"He's not there and is here."

"Give him some time to adapt. Third's got a pretty straightforward set of targets this mission, it'll be a good chance to ease into things."

"Is that what Brad thinks?"

"Brad trusts Kocher to keep him under control."

"Brad has too much faith in other people."

"Brad," Nate repeated, amused, "has too _much_ faith in people?"

"He's got faith in me," Ray said, "which should be all that needs said."

"I have faith in you."

"You're too idealistic for your own good. I'm still not convinced you aren't some sort of blueshirt doing a deep-cover anthropological study."

"Don't be silly. That'd be terrible experimental design." Nate glanced at the small display opposite the fold-out. "You should get going. We're pretty close to lights out, and you need your sleep. I get the feeling we're not going to get much more this week."

"Nah, I can get by on a couple hours."

"You can't stay here, because I can barely fit on this bed as it is, and Walt will get cranky if he gets woken up by you stumbling in late."

"Well, if it's for Walt's sake, I'll do it." Ray eyed his green undershirt, which had a large soggy patch, and stole one of Nate's from his dresser. He pulled on his pants and jacket after it. He hesitated at the door, not quite sure how to say goodbye, and settled on a jaunty salute and a "Catch you later."

Ray almost made it to the lift before the Great Satan came around the corner going the other way. He briefly considered turning around, but rejected it as too obvious in the otherwise deserted corridor, and instead tried to just look casual and walk past him. No such luck; Sixta planted himself right in Ray's path, hands on his hips.

"Good evening, Sergeant-Major," Ray said with his most charming smile. 

"Sergeant Person, it surprises me to find you on this deck at this hour," Sixta replied without so much as a fucking 'hello', "seeing as how these are officer quarters and this battalion operates on the ship's day-night cycle. It is late in the evening? We have not slipped through some sort of goddamn hole in the space-time continuum while I was on the shitter?"

"No, Sergeant-Major."

"Perhaps you're up here seeing Lt. Fick? Engaging in some personal recreational activities? Starfleet has seen fit to allow this sort of ill-advised liaison between its members on the mistaken belief youse all are adults, but you have an upcoming mission. Godfather has generously provided you with time to prepare for it, and you should not be using that time to go off and distract your lieutenant when you and he both have things to do that will contribute to the success of this war."

The worst part about talking to Sixta was that there was no correct way to talk to Sixta. If you said fuck like a normal person, he'd scream at you for bringing Starfleet into disrepute. If you didn't, he'd be offended that you weren't cussing in front of him like you would anyone else. Cite regulations and you were a barracks-room lawyer, the worst kind of gutter scum; fail to quote chapter and verse and you were undisciplined and a sure sign of the coming moral collapse of your entire generation. It was less Scylla and Charybdis and more Godzilla and Ghidorah with the man.

"Sergeant-Major, we weren't doing that sort of extracurricular activity," Ray said. He was really starting to get offended by how everyone was so sure they were fucking like bunnies when their schedule barely left time and energy for the occasional blowjob, and that was before you considered the cramped nature of Nate's bunk. Admittedly, an hour earlier they'd managed to find an angle where Ray could get at that tight ass, but it was the principle of the thing. "He's helping me learn Klingon, so that I'm prepared if we do another joint mission."

"You expect me to believe that you can speak thlingan HoL?" Sixta spat out in that language, and holy fuck, while Nate occasionally had issues with some of the more well-lubricated phrases, Sixta certainly had no problem letting the spittle fly. "I have a two-year-old grandchild who can tell better lies than that!"

Ray fucking hated pop quizzes. "I wouldn't lie to you. I swear," he paused just for a moment to think of an oath that didn't involve profanity, "on the honor and shrines of my family that we really were practicing thlingan HoL, grand master-of-warriors."

"What. Did. You. Just. Call. Me?" With each word Sixta's eyes somehow got bigger and angrier.

"Grand master-of-warriors?" Ray repeated more slowly before switching to a language intended for someone with his number of teeth. "Isn't that the equivalent rank to a sergeant-major or chief master sergeant?"

For easily a minute the sergeant-major's face was frozen in a rictus of unfathomable rage. "You tell that boy," he gritted out in Standard, "he needs to work more on your inflections. Dismissed!"

Ray scampered to the lift as quickly as he could without actually running, thanking his grandmothers' God, Brad's parent's God, and every other variation thereof he could think of for his narrow escape. At least that particular prying jackass couldn't smell the results of Nate's accidental facial. 

Sometimes he wondered if maybe Brad was on to something with his policy toward sex. No one cared if you stuck to prostitutes and uniform chasers. Start fucking one officer and suddenly four thousand people thought they needed to chime in.


	3. Last Chance Power Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bravo Two zips around in hovercraft and blow a lot of shit up. Also the action-adventure stuff drives, like, character development and shit.

_Vodoroth, Cardassian Union  
Stardate 51062.7_

Nate was right, as usual, about getting some rest. They packed in the practice and training, including a company-wide simulation that lasted a full day, and with Ray's extra burn-before-reading secret-squirrel shit it started to feel like he'd hit his bunk just in time to wake up again. When they were finally loaded onto their stealth runabouts and launched off toward Vodoroth, he actually fell asleep in his seat. 

"Ray," Walt told him as they disembarked onto the dusty prairie depression the company's four runabouts had landed in, "I like you like a brother, but if you drool on my tac vest again, I'm gonna strangle you."

"Brad!" Ray hollered. "Sergeant Hasser is threatening to murder me!"

"Stop bothering me and deal with it yourself!" came a reply from the opposite side of the ship.

"Typical. Okay, boys and girls, let's get this oversized tinker-toy put together. The sun's coming up and I need that canopy on before Walt's pasty skin melts off."

"I'm the one who can actually use sun block, you dumb hick."

"It makes my skin feel oily."

"Your skin is always oily."

They all heaved together and the main framework of the skimmer expanded out and locked into place. A few minutes of work got the major components bolted in.

"I'm going to get this fucking scanner aligned right," Ray said, crawling under the nose. "Walt, check the shields and engine. Mrr'sha, get that damned launcher ready. Trombley, Veda, you're on supplies. Make sure the water purifier's locked in place so it won't bounce out like it almost did last time. If I'm going to have to drink recycled piss, I want it to be my own, not, like, Chaffin's or something."

"Is that likely?" Veda asked.

"Does this shithole look like there's a lot of water? We should extract before the clean jugs run out, but if not, we've got a day before our fluids start coming back at us."

"You can't actually tell," Walt assured her. "Just be glad the staff sergeant isn't riding with us. Otherwise it's bitching about piss and shit all day."

"Starting to rethink your decision to join Recon, kitten?" Mrr'sha rumbled from up in the turret.

"A little," Veda said. 

"Come on, you already had to do it at BRC," Ray replied. "Walt, hand me that spanner so I can hit this thing."

"I didn't do the final field survival exam. They graduated my entire class months early."

"Christ, you're even worse than fucking Christeson."

A pair of boots stopped beside Ray's legs. "Company's going to be oscar mike in a few minutes," Brad said. "Are you ready?"

Ray wiggled sideways so he wasn't directly under the scan unit. "Open up the hood, will you?"

There was a click and the plastic cover lifted up, letting Ray see right through the victor's frunk area and up to Brad's stunning visage. "Why?" he asked.

"There should be a wire running along the top there, from -"

"The secondary ODN port to your BlueForce station? Looks loose."

"Fix it, will you?"

Brad pulled out a multitool, leaned in, and fiddled with something on the opposite side of the scanner. "That should do it."

"Thanks." Ray sealed the bottom panels back up and shimmied his way out from under the skimmer. "We are good to go, Staff Sergeant."

"Get loaded, we're wasting daylight. LT wants you on point. Stay frosty."

"Have fun playing chauffeur!" Ray said to his retreating back. Brad flipped him off. He turned to his team and said, "Everyone got your snacks? Diapers for those who don't trust command to let us shit on schedule? Trombley, you have your stuffed teddy? Yeah, fuck you too. Get in."

Ray climbed into the shotgun position, still feeling a little weird about it, and pulled the main screen for his commscan system into position in front of him. He put his rifle across his lap and helped Veda stow hers between them where it was accessible but out of her way. Walt and Trombley loaded up in the second row, while Mrr'sha climbed right up the exterior to her position. She'd wrapped up her head in a scarf, leaving only goggles and a pair of fuzzy ears exposed. Even sitting on the little stool-seat provided behind the turret shield, her legs still reached all the way to the main seats inside. 

With a nod to Veda, Ray slipped his favorite pair of sunglasses on. The skimmer hummed to life around them as the powerplant and hover engines engaged. The vehicle rose, dipped slightly as its landing wheels retracted, then rose again so it was about a meter off the ground. 

There was a tweet in Ray's ear as the company push activated. Lt. T'kel's calm tones came across the radio. "All Bravo victors, Bravo Actual. It is thirteen hours and twenty-five minutes on the mission clock - mark. Switch to line-of-sight comms and maintain radio silence unless absolutely necessary. Initial assaults begin at seventeen hours. Good hunting. Commence departure."

A slightly different chirp was followed by Nate's voice on the platoon channel. "By the numbers and column formation, people."

Ray lifted his right hand and then swept it forward. "Engage."

The skimmer hummed slightly louder and they pulled forward. One by one the others slid in behind them. On other sides of the camp, their sister platoons were speeding off as well, leaving the runabouts and landing zone protected only by the company command team and a bunch Fleetie flight crew. They were dug in and supported by the overlapping shields and subcapital weapons arrays of the runabouts, but Ray didn't want to think too much about just how few people were actually watching their rides.

"Sergeant, may I ask a question?" Veda said once they'd climbed out of the depression and were speeding west toward an old, dry riverbed a dozen klicks away that was their first major landmark. Their passage was kicking up a little dust, but between the deflector and their speed that was more a problem for the poor losers behind them.

"No, no, we don't do that," Ray said. "Ask permission like that, I mean. Five people in a victor doesn't leave room for that kind of bullshit. Even Brad can't maintain that kind of facade for long under these conditions. By the end of this mission, you're going to be pretty familiar with every intimate and disgusting feature we've got."

"Emphasis on disgusting," Walt chimed in. 

"Not just physical, too. Boredom brings out all sorts of little psychoses." Ray jerked a thumb at the psycho. "Plus the really big ones get bigger."

Trombley shifted where he was staring out his window along the length of his heavy rifle. "The counsellor says I'm very well-adjusted."

"They say that to make you feel better about yourself. Don't worry, we love and accept you because you're a heartless killing machine, not despite it. You wanted something, private?"

"Why are we the lead vehicle?" Veda asked. "Protocol says it should be a team leader on point."

Ray shrugged. "It's the same order we used when Brad was here."

"But he's not."

"We've got an enhanced sensor package. So do Pappy and Lovell. Poke's got the jamming system instead. That means he needs to be further back toward the center, and we need to be up front so I can watch for threats from ahead. The other guys are watching flanks and rear." 

"Couldn't Sergeant Espera have carried the sensors, though? Or they could put Patrick or Lovell up front and Team One in the middle."

"Ray's the best commscan operator in the Fleet," Walt said from behind them. "It's why Brad got him into Recon in the first place. Everyone feels better with him up front, even the guys that hate him."

"You find one Maquis minefield and everyone starts thinking you're hot shit. I don't want to brag, though. Rudy would have spotted it in time, too. Probably."

"He did it while driving," Walt said. "It was pretty sweet. He found us a gap in their sensor net, too, so we could infiltrate their camp on foot."

"I'll admit, it was impressive. The Maquis were super pissy about it, the ungrateful fucks. I still haven't gotten so much as a thank-you letter from them."

Veda frowned. "Why would they do that?"

"Because we captured them all, like, a week before Cardassia joined the Dominion and the Jem'hadar demonstrated why leaving the Federation's protection in order to play libertarian colonialist freedom fighters was a bad idea. They're only alive because we stuck 'em in prison."

"The LT had us go in with phasers on stun since we caught them mostly asleep night," Trombley said. 

"Fucking unprofessional," Ray said. "They were all running around in pajamas. No fire watch at all."

"Now we get to leave them on kill, unless it's specifically a capture mission."

Veda gave Ray a look that suggested she was starting to understand a few things.

"Honestly, though, the rest of the victors are in the exact same order, too," Ray continued, looping back to the original point. "No one got hurt last time, so we're doing it this way again. Rangers are famously change-adverse."

"Really?"

"Brad says it's because we're a small-minded and superstitious lot," Ray explained. He gave the scan display a whack and it cleared up. "If something works right one time, we keep doing it that way until it stops working. Like, our part of the Fleet inherited a lot of culture from the MACOs, right? Earth went all-in on supporting the whole Federation not-a-military organization, so the bulk of the first Rangers were former MACOs. Turn right here."

"Aye, sergeant."

"And the MACOs inherited a lot of lingo and traditions from Earth's big pre-unification expeditionary forces, like various flavors of Marines. Hence why we still forbid specific types of candy that no one even makes anymore, just in case one falls through a time portal to fuck up our luck. So since we didn't all die in a fiery explosion when fighting the Maquis, obviously we're not changing things up unless we need to."

"This explanation made sense to you?"

"Well, yeah. Brad's the smartest person I've ever met after the LT, he knows his shit. You should pay attention to what he does, there's a reason Poke's a huge fanboy."

"Also," Walt said, "they probably did game out every possible lineup just to be sure and decided that keeping the original order minimized the potential for confusion. The LT's thorough like that."

"Stop ruining the mystique, Hasser." Something hit the back of Ray's head and he batted at it without turning his attention from the sensors.

"I'm ruining the mystique? You never shut up and overexplain things all the time."

"He's right," Trombley agreed.

"Tell her about your theory for the cause of the war."

"Not now, I need to save some of my better stuff for the boring parts of the trip." Walt flicked Ray's hair again and he rolled his eyes at the juvenile behavior, refusing to actually acknowledge it. "Besides, that was the Klingon war, not this one."

"War's war."

"Not really," Trombley said. "Fighting the Maquis was kind of boring, but the Klingons were a lot of fun."

"Trombley, fighting the Klingons was horrible. At least the fucking Jem'hadar don't seem to enjoy it so much." Ray checked the time and pulled a little canister from his vest. He popped a little green pill out of it and swallowed it dry. "There's a reason Allied command gives them the big assaults and not us, it's because they're crazy."

"Isn't it early to be taking those?" Walt asked. "We're just getting started."

"I got five hours of sleep last night. I don't want to wait for it to kick in."

"Maybe you shouldn't have stayed up so late."

"You're not my dad, Walt."

"Do you even know who your dad is?"

Ray toggled his comm over to the platoon-wide push. "Bravo Two Actual, Bravo Two-One Beta."

"Go for Two Actual," Nate replied in his ear.

"Requesting that Staff Sergeant Colbert come forward and tell Hasser to stop being an insubordinate asshole."

There was a momentary pause. "Request denied. Colbert says he's not getting between you and karmic retribution."

"Please remind Colbert that he doesn't believe in higher powers."

"He's willing to make an exception in this case."

"Tell him that if he's so uncharitable that he won't help a buddy out, he's going to hell right alongside Walt."

"Tell him yourself the next time we stop. I'm not playing go-between just because you two can't go thirty minutes without nagging each other. Two Actual out."

"You're tattling on me?" Walt said. "Really?"

"Damn straight I am. I remember what happened when Brad let this shit get out of hand." Something thunked into the back of Ray's head. "And for reals, stop hitting me, I'm trying to focus on this damned scanner."

"Ain't me."

"It's not Trombley, he's actually well-behaved," Ray said. He turned around to lecture Walt properly and got bopped in the nose by a cat tail. He sneezed. "Goddamn it! Put that outside, will you?"

"I don't want it getting dusty," Mrr'sha shouted down. 

"Fine." Ray crossed his arms and sulked as they continued racing along the former river at eighty klicks an hour.

"You're doing a great job driving," Trombley said after a while. "It's a lot smoother than usual."

"It's a hovercraft," Veda replied. "It's always smooth."

"You'd be surprised."

"Bigger rocks can make it a bit bumpy," Walt added. "Like those we just passed, for example."

"Why wouldn't you just avoid them?" Veda asked.

"I don't know, why wouldn't you? Sometimes when our last driver got especially passive-aggressive, it seemed like he would even aim right for them."

"I was watching for traps," Ray grumbled.

_"Two-One Beta, Two-One Alpha,"_ Poke said. _Lance Corporal Rix asks that you stop sulking so loudly. It's giving her a headache."_

"Two-One Alpha, Two-One Beta. Tell her to keep her grubby psychic hands to herself. And I'm not sulking, I'm planning."

About an hour and a hundred kilometers later, they reached the first of their four drop-off points. There was a small copse of scraggly trees on a slight hill there, and the platoon's victors circled around it as most of the men dismounted. 

"Sergeant," Nate said, coming up to join him under one of the trees with his self-appointed bodyguards in tow. "Will this site work?"

Ray slowly turned a full circle in one spot, tricorder out at arm's length. "Yeah, there's good signal strength. Trombley, get the core sampler out. Right about there, it should keep us clear of the roots. Gotta be environmentally friendly."

"It is a fragile ecosystem," Nate agreed solemnly. "Stafford, Christeson, help Trombley."

Ray went back to the victor and retrieve the first listening device, a matte grey lozenge about the size and shape of a brontosaurus suppository. "Walt, do me a favor and spool this antenna wire out about seven meters."

He spent about fifteen minutes calibrating and tuning in the device, while in the background the bumbling trio managed to use the sampler to lift up a column of dirt and rock about half a meter wide and eight tall. Ray carved out just enough space for the device to fit, then they carefully lowered the entire assembly back into the ground, trailing the antenna behind until it disappeared just before the final layer of soil and grass settled back into place.

"That's it?" Brad said, almost making Ray jump out of his skin. 

"Yes, that's it," Ray told him. "I'm sorry my delicate technical work wasn't exciting enough."

"Is it working?"

"Seems to be. We won't know for sure until the whole set's been in place a couple weeks."

"Okay, guys, enough sightseeing," Nate announced. "Mount up. I want to get to our first assault target in time to do some recon for once."

"Hey, Ray?" Walt asked after they'd scrambled back into their skimmers and started moving again. 

"What?"

"Now that Brad's in another victor, does that mean singing country's okay?"

"Sure, as long as it's not sad shit."

"Sergeant," Trombley said.

"No."

"I didn't even ask anything."

"You're going to want to do something psycho like shoot a dog or bring a wild vole home as a pet or fuck knows what else. The answer is no."

There was a long pause, followed by a hesitant, "Do Cardies have dogs?"

"Cardies can't feel love," Veda said, "so no."

Walt started tapping out a rhythm. "On the road again. I just can't wait to get on the road again."

"The life I love is makin' music with my friends," Ray joined in. "And I can't wait to get on the road again."

"Why don't you guys sing anything modern?" Trombley asked. 

"Shut up or sing along, asshole."

They hit the Cardies an hour before local noon. Their first target was an airfield, chosen not just for its role in shipping refined metals offworld but because it would be the source of any rapid response forces in this region. It was also one of the furthest from their LZ; from there on out they'd be looping back around toward it. The theory was that by the time they were finishing blowing shit up and had to start worrying about Dominion reinforcements, they'd already be in position to haul ass.

"This brings back memories," Ray shouted as the platoon crested over a rise and started cruising at top speed across the salt flat the airfield was located in, spread out in a line perpendicular to their course. He put his helmet on and pulled the straps tight.

"What, that stupid Maquis junkyard?" Walt called back 

"No! This place looks like just the one me, the LT, and Brad stole a ship from."

"The LT, Brad, and I."

"Are you fucking serious? I get enough fucking grammar lectures in my off hours, I don't need you correcting me. Veda, watch our dispersion, we're drifting toward Tony and he'll throw a complete shitfit if we scratch his victor."

Ray's scanner went ping as they got about half a klick from the field. "All Bravo Two victors, Two-One Beta. I'm seeing some weapons powering up. Looks like they finally noticed us."

_"Bravo Two, Two Actual. Light them up."_

There was a searing hiss as a long line of fire connected Poke's victor and one of the watchtowers. More lanced out from Lovell's and Rudy's. A distant siren began to faintly howl across the plain. 

Ray gave Mrr'sha's leg a thump with his left arm. "Mag charges on the gatehouse!"

"Aye, Sergeant!"

The overhead gun cracked three times in rapid succession. A second later there was a matching series of flashes at the base of the tower guarding the main entrance of the airfield. Lightning crackled across its surface and it began to tip forward as the facing wall turned to dust. A comms tower a hundred meters to the right did the same as the LT's victor fired into it.

"Get some!" Ray crowed. "Walt, set your rifle up to eleven and put a hole in anything too small for her to bother with."

The field-fence protecting the base was nothing but a bunch of smoking generator pylons by the point they roared past. Ray lifted his phaser to his shoulder and started taking shots at Cardies as they zoomed past. Behind him he heard Trombley doing the same, methodical bursts so evenly spaced he might as well have been a machine. Team One split off from the rest, hurtling between two rows of parked shuttles and cargo haulers with Poke's crew shooting up one side and Ray's the other. They hit the end of the airfield and careened back around for another pass. In the distance there was a roll of thunder as fuel bunkers started popping off. 

_"Bravo Two, Two Actual. We're done here. Withdraw to the south and proceed to waypoint four."_

"He sounds pretty satisfied," Ray said as they whipped around and shot out of the airfield, leaving nothing behind but towering clouds of smoke.

"I suppose you'd know," Walt replied. 

"Damn straight. Hey, everyone still have all their pieces?"

"I don't think anyone even shot at us," Trombley said, sounding almost offended about it.

"I'm good, Sergeant," Veda replied. 

Mrr'sha purred a bit and said, "I think my scarf got singed by one of those explosions."

"Well, don't shoot at shit so close next time, that's what us guys with rifles are for," Ray told her. More quietly, he added, "Walt, next time we stop, make sure the deflector's angled up enough for her extra height."

"Got it."

They rolled on up into some more hilly terrain and then split off on an orthogonal vector once out of sight of the airfield, not that anyone back there was likely to be watching given how the entire place was on fire. They paused briefly so Ray could plant another listening device. This one went a little faster now that they had a better idea of what they were doing. 

Second Platoon reached their next real target, a mineral refinery, about an hour later. Their side-quest stop had put them slightly behind the original schedule, but the LT still took enough time to park behind some hills well off the main transport routes and let the scout snipers stare at the place for half an hour. Minimal obvious defenses even now that there had to be an alert out, lots of wide open roads mean for ore haulers, plenty of things to go boom - a pretty ripe target.

Lots of civilians, too. This wasn't like the airfield. The town built up beside it was a small one, but it was still a town. Their delay not only let them take the time to scout the defenses, but put their attack into the post-noon hour when cultural intelligence said most people would be starting a long lunch siesta during the hottest part of the day.

_"Bravo Two, Bravo Two Actual,"_ Nate said over the platoon push. _"Attention to orders. We're oscar mike in two minutes. Once we go in, keep moving. Do not let yourself get bogged down or distracted. This is a hit and run, not a comprehensive demolition. Watch your lines of fire. Stay clear of the west end, that's where most of the habitation blocks are. Good hunting."_

"You guys did look over the target ID manual, right?" Ray asked. "I don't want anyone shooting up an orphanage because they thought it was an duridium smelter, not naming any names, Trombley."

He got an almost monotone, "Yes, sergeant," back. 

"Veda, keep us about twenty meters behind Two-One Alpha. Let them use their heavy phaser to clear any obstructions. Don't rear end them, we'll never hear the last of it."

"Aye, Sergeant."

They waited a little longer in silence before Walt asked, "I don't get any special instructions?"

"Nah."

_"Bravo Two, Two Actual. Execute."_

The skimmer jerked into motion, popping over a ridge and then picking up speed rapidly as they cruised down a long slope towards where the refinery sat by a sad excuse for a creek. The plan was to slash past on either side of it, firing merrily into all the delicate and potentially explosive bits, and then continue on through the support buildings that housed the power, computer, and cooling system until they popped out the other side of town. They had munitions that could have leveled the refinery with one shot, but they'd have taken every civilian structure along with it. Starfleet wasn't at the point where the cost-benefit analysis said avoiding that wasn't worth risking a few lives over, and the LT certainly wasn't. Ray hoped the latter day never came. 

Speaking of big softies, this was his cue. He adjusted his radio over to the Cardassian emergency bands and turned up the power enough to wash out their chatter.

"Attention, Cardassian workers. Evacuate immediately. Everything's going to be on fire in about thirty seconds. This ain't a drill. Please address any complaints about the drop in property values to Gul Dukat or your nearest Vorta."

_"Who is this? Get off this channel!"_

"What? Are you fucking with me? Do you people not pay attention to other parts of your planet? I'm a fucking Starfleet Ranger here to fuck your shit up. I swear to Jesus, Buddah, and Benjamin Fucking Sisko, I try to do a favor to you fascist fucks and this is the reward I get?"

Veda shook her head and made a 'tsking' sound. "Please don't take the Emissary's name in vain, Sergeant."

"I take my own god's name in vain twenty times a day, I'm not going to make an exception for some asshole from New Orleans. We're gonna go right here." Ray took a moment to pop another stimmie before readying his rifle. The heavy weapons started firing at the entirely inadequate guard stations lining the perimeter. "Hey, I said twenty meters. Twenty. Not ten, not thirty."

Walt laughed. "Five is right out."

"Fucking right it is. I don't want one of those trigger-happy assholes to see us out of the corner of their eyes and pop us one."

The guards were a little more alert this time and they started to take some return fire here and there. Nothing organized, though, just guys walking patrol in ones and twos letting off wildly inaccurate disruptor rifle shots. Ahead of them Garza sent a lot stream of phaser fire into a coolant manifold. The munitions launcher hammered away overhead, magnetic disintegrator rounds switched out for thermobarics and high explosives. The towering, tangled machinery took on a strange, hellish appearance as fires spread across it and dense black smoke filled the air.

It took several blurred minutes for them blast past the refinery, leaving wreckage and devastation in their wake. From the sound of things, there was more spreading as fuel lines and chemical tanks started cooking off. They continued to raise havoc as they sped into the support and admin section, blasting anything that looked vaguely important: power boxes, comm relays, random buildings that looked flammable. Anything that could slow down repairs or damage control just a little bit more.

There was an earth-shaking boom behind them, so loud that the shockwave blew out windows and made their victor shudder. Ray didn't see exactly what the fuck came flying through the air. All he knew was that something smashed into a multi-story building ahead of them and bounced into the road in a shower of twisted metal and masonry. Half the building seemed to follow. Ray beaned himself on his scanner display as Veda hit full reverse and they skidded to a halt half a meter from a collapsed pile of rubble.

"Holy shit," Veda said. "Holy shit. Prophets protect us."

_"Two-One Beta, Two-One Alpha, report status."_

"We're still here!" Ray yelled. 

"Clear aft!" Trombley said, leaning half out his window with his rifle aimed back.

"Veda! Veda, snap out of it and back us the fuck up!"

"Aye, Sergeant!"

They shot backward to the last intersection. Almost immediately they started taking fire from the right, one disruptor shot bleeding through the shields enough to spark against the middle frame and send little bits of slag flying at Ray and Walt. Ray turned to see a pair of fucking cops with pistols out and shooting at them. Ray laid down suppressing fire, forcing them behind a car, and then Walt upped the power of his rifle and blew the entire thing away in a spray of fire and shrapnel.

"Head right," Ray ordered, checking his scanner's map, "then take the next left. No, second, first's an alley. Second left."

The skimmer pivoted in place and took off down the street going at least eighty kph, well above what even Ray would consider safe turning speed, and barely slowed upon reaching the intersection. As they careened around the corner, Ray got a split-second glimpse of a surprised grey face before there was a sickening thud against the victor's right fender. He heard a muffled 'fuck' from behind him. 

"What was that?" Veda asked, turning to look.

"Nothing!" Ray shouted back. "Watch the fucking road! Bravo Two-One Alpha, Two-One Beta. We are on a parallel course on the next street to your right. Check fire this direction."

_"Copy that,"_ Poke relied. _"Just keep going until we clear the town. And for fuck's sake don't let that psycho fucker shoot at us."_

"Hear that?" Ray asked. Ahead of them a truck smashed into a building as its driver ditched it. Ray put a burst into the engine as they passed. 

Trombley nodded. "Yeah, I think I keep seeing them at the intersections." He raised his rifle slightly and fired once at someone on a rooftop. They were fucking down the street at probably ninety now, serving around vehicles, civvies, and other random obstructions, and the fucker still hit. Maybe he really was some sort of psycho killer robot.

A couple hair raising minutes later they cleared the edge of town and were back out into the surrounding prairie. They actually got there slightly before Poke did, presumably because Lilley wasn't quite as much a maniac. 

"Okay," Ray said once they'd rejoined the rest of the platoon. "Okay. That was different."

"Hey, Sarge?" Trombley said. 

"Yeah?"

"When we stop to do your thing, you think it's okay if I go and have a combat jack?"

Mrr'sha kicked in his general direction. Walt groaned. Ray stared at his sensor and tried to pretend that he was listening to orders over the comms.

"I'm just joking," Trombley said. 

"I fucking hope so," Ray grumbled. 

"I wouldn't go off alone in enemy territory."

"What is the matter with you people?" Veda suddenly said. "Are all Earth men this crazy?"

"It's the adrenaline," Ray explained. "And testosterone. The combination has fucked up our species for the last five hundred thousand years."

_"Bravo Two, Two Actual._" Ray's heart skipped a beat at Nate's voice, then started to slow down a little. _"Report any casualties to Doc Bryan. If there's nothing serious, our next stop will be at waypoint seven. Column formation, align off Two-One. Good shooting, everyone. No one's going to be able to say we weren't thorough."_

They cruised for about forty minutes before reaching their next drop point. Ray and his team got out their equipment and set up as everyone else laughed and shouted around them. Brad walked up to where Ray was kneeling on the ground a couple minutes after they'd arrived. He squatted down next to him.

"Sergeant Person," Brad said, "do you need Doc to take a look at that shiner?"

"Naw, I'm good," Ray said. "It's just a little scrape."

"I hope so." The asshole tapped his forehead right on the bruised and split skin. "This brain, twisted and malformed due to years of abuse as it might be, is important to the success of this mission. I can't have you damaging Starfleet equipment."

"Your concern is touching, Staff Sergeant. Truly."

"I'll send Bryan over to take a look just in case, once he finishes handling some burns for Leon." Brad leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. "Not because I'm worried your thick skull was injured, to be clear, but just so the LT will calm down a little."

Ray glanced away from the device. "He okay?"

"Perfectly fine, but I think the main reason he's talking to Pappy and Rudy," Brad indicated one of the victors with a slight incline of his chin, "is so he doesn't rush over here and get too touchy-feely."

"You guys take any fire?" Ray asked. 

"No. The only danger we faced was Stafford about having an orgasm all over the back of my head every time he fired the launcher. I'm thrilled the LT's victor has one this time, but I could do without knowing what his ducklings sound like when they're coming."

"As long as he's aiming for your hair and not Nate's, that's fine with me."

Ray sent his minions off to piss and shit when Bryan arrived to fuss and zap him with the dermal regenerator. 

"Is it just me, or is this taking much longer than usual?" Brad asked during the embarrassing process, as if he didn't know to the second how long they had been stopped.

"It's this damned rock. It's taking forever to bore a hole in, and the kemacite the Cardies are here to mine's fucking with the antenna reception." Ray flinched as the magic healing beam hit a nerve or something. "Isn't this supposed to be painless?"

"Person," Bryan said, "I have been treating you with kid gloves ever since you saved the LT's life, but if you're incapable of showing some fucking graditude, I can give you some needle and thread and you can fix it your own fucking self."

"How essential is this particular device?" Brad asked. "We're already behind schedule. This is throwing us further off."

"We need at least three for this to work. Maybe we can skip this one, but then if something's fucked up with the fourth too..." Ray spread his hands. 

"Take your time. Viable intel's worth the risk."

It took almost thirty minutes to get the damned thing in place. After that they were immediately oscar mike. The next target was a mine not far from their location. Normally you'd think just torching the elevators and separators and shit wouldn't do much to a hole in the ground, but even raw kemacite had a nasty tendency to explode. There was a lot of earth shaking as they zipped away. Hopefully anyone down there had evacuated, but if not, Ray figured that it was their own fault for not getting the hint after multiple neighbors had been blown up. 

Because Jesus hears everything, even the thoughts inside Ray's head, the next device had to be drilled into loose, rocky scree that kept collapsing back into the hole. By the time they got moving back to the LZ after another half-hour delay, the sun was dropping below the horizon. 

They were still forty klicks out when Nate came on the radio.

_"Bravo Two, Bravo Two Actual."_ Nate's normally calm voice had a slight edge to it. _"Be advised, Bravo Actual has informed me that the LZ has been discovered by a Jem'hadar patrol. They expect to come under attack before we're able to return to base. Be prepared to engage the enemy when we arrive. Two-One Beta, let's put on a little more speed."_

"You heard the man," Ray told Veda. "Give me your NVGs, I'll set them to auto-adjust."

"What about you, Sergeant?"

Behind him, Walt laughed. "Those stupid fucking glasses are his NVGs. He replaced the lenses."

"Laugh all you want, I can see great. Actually, no - why the fuck are you laughing? Rudy spends, like, an hour every morning getting ready to go, just so he can get all dirty with the rest of us, and everyone's all, 'wow, Rudy, you look so gorgeous and handsome today'. I put on one nice thing and Brad calls me an upjumped redneck with delusions of grandeur."

"I think they're nice," Mrr'sha rumbled. 

"Thank you!"

"I'm not sure Staff Sergeant Colbert owns any clothes except uniforms and t-shirts," Trombley offered. "Maybe you shouldn't listen to him so much?"

"Okay, this is kind of disturbing," Ray said. "Since when do you not worship the ground Brad walks on?"

"I'm just saying you should stand up for yourself."

"I am perfectly fucking capable of standing up for myself."

_"Bravo Two-One Beta, Two Actual."_

"Go for Ray."

_"Swing us around the south end of the LZ. Reports are the Jem'hadar are attacking from that angle. When we get there, you'll anchor the left end of the line."_

"Copy that, LT." Ray relayed the instructions. "Don't expect the Jem'hadar to break and run when they see us coming. They're worse than fucking Klingons about being thrilled to die."

"Fine by me," Trombley said. 

"Mrr'sha, switch to whatever you've got left with a wide AOE."

Their chatter died away as they drew close to the LZ and could see smoke rising against the pink and purple horizon. Occasionally flickers of light would lance up into the air as fire went wide. 

The company push crackled to life. _"Bravo Two, Bravo Three!"_

"Oh, fuck, who let this asshole on the comms?" Ray said.

_"Where the fuck are you guys? We're getting cut to pieces down here! There's Jem'hadar everywhere!"_

_"All Bravo units, Bravo Two. We are approaching from the south-southwest, ETA one minute. We're going to hit them in the flank."_

They came over the edge of the depression so fast they caught air time. Behind them the rest of the platoon spread out into a diagonal line. Ahead there was a firing line along the edge of base camp, dozens of Rangers crouched behind portable shields and firing across the surrounding plain. It looked like at least a couple of the runabouts had taken hits from heavy weapons. For all their fame ferocity, the Jem'hadar looked to have dug in somewhat as well, down in phaser-excavated fox holes and the like. There couldn't have been more than one or two platoons still left, but they were firing like there were twice that many, more than enough pressure to keep anyone from coming out to get them or just flying the fuck away. 

Ray had to hand it to the Jem'hadar. When they saw a half-dozen vehicles rocketing toward them with weapons blazing, half of them calmly shifted fire in Bravo Two's direction. Blue pulses shot past them, surprisingly accurate even as Veda drifted them sideways a few meters back and forth. A few dozen meters to their right, Ray saw the command victor take a couple glancing hits, and he forced himself to focus down on what he could shoot in front of him. 

Not that there was much to shoot at for long. Hardy shock troopers or not, a few dozen guys who'd probably expended their anti-vehicle weapons on their initial assault couldn't take on an entire platoon of skimmers while still receiving fire from another direction. Within a minute the last of them had fallen, and the platoon slowed to a walking pace as they swung back around and entered the camp. 

Ray hopped out of the victor as soon as they'd stopped behind. 

"Get this shit packed," Ray ordered Walt. "Start with the sensors and comm gear. I'm going to check in."

"Got it."

Ray walked, not ran, to the command victor. He let out as he spotted Nate and Brad were both up and walking around. The former had a nasty-looking seared crease in his helmet. The latter may as well have stepped out of a slightly-dusty recruitment poster. 

"Sergeant Person," Nate said with the slightest nod and smile. "Good work today."

"Thank you, sir," Ray replied. "Likewise with the entire leadership and tactics thing."

A mud-smeared corporal came running up. "Lt. Fick, we need you at the command ship."

All three of them followed the woman over to that runabout. There were several still-smoking holes in its side where it'd taken heavy weapons hits. Laying on a stretcher near it was Lt. T'kel. Her uniform was smeared green and she was obviously down a forearm. A corpsman knelt next to her, applying more bandages to a burn wound on her forehead.

"Ma'am," Nate said. 

"Lieutenant," T'kel responded. "Please excuse me if I do not sit up. Your mission went well?"

"Yes, ma'am. All objectives complete."

"As you can see, our runabout is inoperable," T'kel said. "A lucky hit, as they say."

"Casualties?"

"If you are asking about Master Sergeant Wynn, he's injured as well, but I understand his burns are quite survivable. We were the only ones close enough to be hurt." She took a deep breath. "Nathaniel, take command of the company and get everyone into the remaining ships. Ditch any equipment you must, and destroy it along with this runabout. I suggest you make our retreat expeditious. I doubt it will be long before further Dominion forces arrive."

Nate nodded stony-faced. "Yes, ma'am. I'll take care of it."

"Good. Corpsman, you may now sedate me."

"Brad. Ray," Nate said, turning to them. "I'm going to talk with the other platoon commanders. Brad, get our platoon moving. Ray, coordinate with the company command team on getting their people divided up. Leave all the victors where they are. We'll just drop a torpedo on the place as we leave."

"Aye, sir," they said in unison. They split off in three directions. 

By leaving all their shit behind, they were able to get off the planet in less than twenty minutes, dropping a photon warhead in their wake so there was nothing remaining but a smoking crater. The flight back to where _Mathilda_ and the rest of her task force lurked behind a planet was tense at first, until it was clear there were no ships after them, at which point the chatter rapidly escalated to a dull roar of bragado. __

_ _It was about that point that Ray realized that on his first mission as an NCO with people to actually lead, he'd almost gotten them all flattened by flying machinery, and he started to have a very quiet freakout. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was asleep while concentrating on not hyperventilating._ _

_ _Someone put a hand on his shoulder. Ray opened his eyes to see Brad looking down at him. _ _

_ _"You okay?" he asked._ _

_ _"I was trying to get some shut-eye."_ _

_ _"You did a good job today."_ _

_ _"Awww, Brad. That'd be touching if you didn't say it to all the guys."_ _

_ _"I do. This time I mean it." Brad continued down the row of seats, pausing here and there to briefly speak with others._ _

_ _There was a lot of the usual fussing after they returned, but they'd all been awake for twenty-four hours by that point, so the debriefs were put on hold. At least that was the official excuse. Ray wouldn't put it past the people at battalion and task force headquarters to be more concerned about the fact that it was night according to the ship's clock and not wanting to risk their own beauty sleep. _ _

_ _Once he was sure his own people were at least in the vicinity of their bunks, Ray snuck up to the officer level and Nate's quarters. He rang a bell and after a minute Nate opened the door, wearing a tank top and shorts._ _

_ _"Not tonight, honey," Nate told him, even as he stepped aside so Ray could come in. "I've got a headache."_ _

_ _"I'm too fucking tired to fuck anyway," Ray said. He started stripping down to his boxers. "I just want to sleep for a day."_ _

_ _"I know how you feel." Nate went over to his couch and hit the button that turned it into a bed, then gave the frame a good yank when it got stuck halfway. He sat down. "Some day, huh?"_ _

_ _"That's one way to put it," Ray said, settling down beside him. "I don't think I want to go back to that planet. It was exciting, but the hospitality sucked."_ _

_ _"Tony said you almost got flattened."_ _

_ _"Nah, he's exaggerating."_ _

_ _"Is that what your dashcam is going to show?"_ _

_ _"Okay, it was a little close."_ _

_ _Nate pulled him down onto the bunk and kissed him. "It's a good thing we started off with near-death experiences. Otherwise I might have to freak out more."_ _

_ _"I'm sure you can channel your worry into healthy coping mechanisms. Like murder."_ _

_ _Nate hit the lights. "Go to sleep, Ray."_ _

_ _"Sir, yes, sir."_ _

_ _Nate gave him a little smack. "Not in bed."_ _

_ _"Fine, fine." He squeezed up against Nate and away from the treacherous edge of their too-narrow bunk. To his surprise, it only took a few minutes to drift off._ _


	4. In Suicide Machines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I'm forced to actually include Bravo's usual leaders, Ray gets psychoanalyzed because this is Starfleet and they take mental health seriously, and there's a space battle from the point of view of the cattle deck.

_USS Empress Matilda  
Stardate 51068.3_

T'kel and Mike were both shipped off on a medical runabout headed to Starbase 375 along with a dozen other people from other parts of the battalion. Word was that in time they'd return, following skin grafts and limb replacement and whatnot. In the meantime, temporary replacements from the battalion staff would be subbing in.

Given that Captain Federation was still around after a month, Ray did not think command was operating on the same understanding of the word 'temporary' as everyone else.

"I'm really excited to have the chance to lead you guys in the field," Lt. Schwetje said as he continued to go on and on in his self-introduction to the assembled company. "Recon's been doing a lot of great things these last couple months and I think we can keep on being great. We're one of the few units that's managed to hit back at the Dominion. It's something to be really proud of."

Their new company commander reminded Ray a lot of a particularly dumb lab he'd once had. Very enthusiastic, very eager to please, and stupid enough to think he'd locked himself in a barn even though the door at the other side was wide open. He even looked like some kind of throwback to before humans invented fire. It was still better than the squirrely-looking fucker standing next to him, someone from one of the logistics companies. 

"Anyways, enough about me," Schwetje said. "Let's talk about the next mission."

Everyone sat up a little straighter. Even Nate up in the front row had seemed to be listing ever so slightly. 

"It's a lot like our last one. Command was very pleased with how it turned out, so they've found another target and we're doing it again."

"Again?" Captain Federation repeated. "Won't they be ready this time?"

Schwetje smiled and nodded. "That's why we're doing it so fast. They won't have time to change any of their defensive plans."

"Emphasis on fast, for the entire mission," Griego said.

"Yeah. I'm told that last time our extraction got delayed and that's how the big firefight started," Schwetje said. "I looked at the reports and there's some spots where people took a while to think and look things over. That's great here on the ship and all, but in the field I want to see a lot more aggressiveness this time."

"So no more pussy footing around," Griego added, and unlike Schwetje he wasn't just looking across the room but instead focused right on part Second Platoon was sitting in. "You reach the target, you destroy the target, you move on to the next target. No sight seeing."

"Exactly. We gotta hit the Dominion hard and we'll take a few hits doing it," Schwetje said, nodding along, "but we could have avoided the worst part at the end if we'd kept our momentum. Violence of action, like the battalion commander always says."

Who the fuck was 'we'? That's what Ray wanted to know. 

"We've got about sixty hours before we leave, so I figure we do a sim run tomorrow. Battalion's already come up with most of the planning and target assignments, so I'll pass those along this afternoon to the platoon commanders. Look 'em over and we can talk it through in the morning. Dismissed."

Ray wanted to immediately go and complaining about this aggressiveness thing to Nate or Brad, but those two were already heading off with their heads together. He knew better than to get between them when they started bitching at each other.

"Not fucking aggressive enough," Ray muttered to Walt instead. "We almost got squashed because we got up close and personal with an entire city block of explosive shit. Can you believe this?"

"It's just moto bullshit," Walt said, "he probably doesn't mean it."

"Does he look smart enough to come up with something like that?"

"They've got a manual. He can just memorize a few lines each briefing and spit 'em out." Walt nodded down the corridor. "Head's up."

"Oh, fuck me, that's just what I need."

"Sergeant Person!" The battalion's assigned mental health specialist, Dr. Rona Elif, was coming the other way right for them. Today they were wearing a weird pastel jumpsuit. Ray wasn't sure who designed the uniforms, but sometimes they really didn't quite hit the mark for 'calming and soothing'. The colors really didn't do much for their blonde hair, although overall it did flatter their figure. 

"Hi, Commander," Ray said with a winning smile.

"I'm glad I caught you. Your appointment's in a few minutes."

"Is it? That sucks, I completely forgot. I've actually got some training I need to go over with my team, about stuff we just learned in the briefing."

"No, your schedule's clear."

"Did you read my mind?" he asked suspiciously. 

"No. Lt. Fick assured me that you'd be available. Come on, let's take this to my office." They swept their hand toward the nearby lift station. "Unless you'd be more comfortable in a more public setting?"

"Nope," Ray said, springing into action. He didn't trust them to be joking. Any psychiatrist who carried a sidearm was probably capable of making good on their threats. Being a telepath just made things worse. One of the benefits of being infantry was that Betazoids famously disliked that sort of dirty work and he didn't have to hang around them often, although naturally there was one riding with Poke now. It was yet more evidence that Ray was cursed. 

Elif's office was on one of the upper levels of the ship's main body, outside the troop pod where the battalion lived. It had a pretty nice view, or would if they weren't in deep space. Ray avoided the stereotypical fainting couch and settled into an armchair. 

"I'm perfectly fine," Ray told Elif. 

"You probably are," they agreed cheerfully. 

"So why am I here?"

"The same reason you have regular post-mission physicals. Prevention is the best cure for most problems. And since everyone has to visit me, it avoids creating a stigma."

"Well, I'm glad to help those poor saps out. Um. I mean."

They shook their head. "Don't worry, I know how it is. It's the same problem the doctors, nurses, and corpsmen face - none of you want to admit weakness, so you'll wait until something is oozing before bringing it up. So, is there anything you'd like to talk about? I understand you had a near miss with some debris on your last mission." 

"tI was nothing."

"I think your mission report used the word 'squashed'. That doesn't bother you?"

"It's random chance. It's not like a firefight where I could have affected the outcome. We weren't where it landed so we were fine."

"Okay." They crossed their legs and leaned back in their chair. "Any nightmares?"

"Nope." They looked skeptical, so Ray amended, "I had a couple after our first mission. Nothing major this time"

"That's good."

"That's good? No more questions? No prying?"

"I'm not here to argue with you. How are things with Nate Fick?"

Ray groaned. "Do you have to ask?"

"He's your commanding officer, so yes, there's a few questions that do need to be asked. You actually signed a form about it. It's either me or the battalion sergeant-major. Unlike him, I'm trained to help with relationship troubles if there are any." Elif paused for a few seconds. "Ray, can I be frank?"

"You can call yourself whatever you want."

"I am not going to read your mind without permission," they said. "But I can't help but pick up surface thoughts when they're broadcast loudly enough. If you keep reciting multiplication tables this entire hour, we're both going to end up with headaches."

It was almost as if they were trying to kill him through embarrassment. Maybe it was some sort of Dominion plot. "Sorry, I didn't realize I was doing that."

They nodded. "It's a common occurrence with you recon guys. Your escape and resistance training kicks in without you realizing it."

"Hey, if I did give you permission, would that mean we could get this over with faster?"

"While it would certainly make my job easier, I can't promise that."

"Go for it. I swear, I won't try to hide anything. The inside of my head is an open book starting right now."

Elif gave him a skeptical look but shrugged and seemed to focus. Ray didn't feel any kind of psychic rummaging or anything. On the other hand, they did get a look on their face that reminded him a lot of that time Ray dared Brad to try lutefisk and he'd been drunk enough to actually do it. 

"Alright," they said, leaning back in their chair. "I think it's safe to say that from your perspective, everything's on the up and up. If anything, I feel like I should be concerned that he gets a little too detached. But that'll be something I should talk about with him."

"Great," Ray said, starting to get up. "Catch you in a couple more months."

"No, we've still got the rest of our session. I can tell your battalion nothing untoward is happening, which means we've got time to talk about how you feel about your position as an enlisted leader."

Ray sighed and sat back down. He should have known nothing would be that easy. Ralif waited patiently for a few minutes while Ray tried to get his thoughts in order. 

"I used to think platoon commander was probably the shittiest job in the service," Ray said finally. "Until I became responsible for a half-dozen lives. I have no real authority at all, even less than the LT or Sergeant Espera, and just enough power that if I screw up I'll get people killed. "

"Does that scare you?"

"I'm a fucking ranger, nothing scares me."

"My apologies."

"It didn't, though. Not until we got back and I had time to actually think about it."

"Technical Sergeant has fewer field leadership responsibilities," Elif pointed out. "You could change track."

Ray shook his head. He wasn't the sort of guy who chickened out of being responsible just because he felt a little antsy. He also didn't make decisions based on what other people thought of him, but knowing that Nate and Brad would be very understanding and not disappointed still had some influence. 

"It's just first-time jitters. Besides, it's kind of stupid, isn't it? Back on Toros, thousands of lives were on the line and I didn't care." He'd cared a lot about the one, but he sure as fuck wasn't going to say that to someone who might be obligated to snitch. "And now they've got me doing more secret shit that's supposedly vital to Fleet operations."

"It's a lot easier to conceptualize the deaths of people you know than a fractional percentage contribution to the month's casualty statistics, even if from an objective standpoint the latter is a much larger number."

Ray rolled his eyes. "You're gonna have to dumb it down a little if you want to get through to me."

"No, I don't think I do. You're an adult, Sergeant, I'll treat you like one." Elif cocked their head. "If you want to talk about specifics, I can apply for clearance."

"You really don't want to know. They're pretty hardcore about keeping it secret."

"I do this for the battalion commander and the ship's captain, Ray," Elif said. "If you think you've got people very interested in making sure you're not captured alive, well. No one's said there's a security officer with orders to vaporize me if this ship get boarded, but no one needs to, because I can read minds."

"Wow," Ray said, momentarily taken aback. "I bet they didn't prepare you for that in medical school."

"It's not something I write home to my family about."

Ray hesitated and bit his lip. "Actually. There is something I could use help with."

"Go on."

"Writing home to my mom. Or sending recordings, you know what I mean."

Elif nodded. "A lot of people ask for advice on what to say about the war. It's tricky."

"Yeah, sure, but I'm not worried about that. I haven't told her about Nate yet. She's got very strong views about hierarchical organizations."

"You're talking to a Betazoid working with infantry," Elif said with a laugh. "I know the feeling. Okay, let's walk through this."

The second raid went a bit better. Nate cut their recon down to the bare minimum, and while they arrived back at the LZ last they were still technically on schedule. The third time wasn't the charm at all. It was, in fact, the exact opposite of charming. Since response time was getting shorter, the mission planners adjusted the type and number of targets with the aim of making it possible to get in and out faster. At least that was the theory, because the folks at Special Missions had immediately tacked on the objective of stealing the computer from a Cardie transmission tower instead of just blowing it up, as a cover for how they were getting their new signals intelligence if the Dominion got suspicious. 

It went something like this:

"This should take five or six minutes," Ray said.

"The schedule says you have ten," Brad said. "Maybe we'll get done on time for once."

"Maybe they're finally getting more realistic about field conditions," Ray replied. This was followed by, "Why the fuck is there bomb attached to this? No one mentioned any bombs!"

Needless to say, since Ray was not an EOD tech and the only one the company had was fucking around with Encino Man, it took a bit longer than five minutes to extract the stupid computer without setting off the newly installed self-destruct. It was also extremely tedious rather than tense. By the time they rolled up to the LZ, everyone else was buttoned up and about ready to just fuck off without them. 

They had received strict instructions to immediately bring the computer module directly to the Signals Intelligence division, so the two of them left Brad behind to herd everyone. Naturally this meant Nate was ambushed right before they managed to escape the hangar.

"Nate! Lieutenant, hold up," Encino Man called, jogging up with his Igor in tow. 

"Yes, sir?" Nate replied, steering them a few meters away from the door where every passing Ranger wouldn't overhear. Ray could see the transformation from tired but relaxed to tired and cranky by the way Nate's shoulders squared up. 

"We need to talk about what happened on the mission."

"Of course."

Normally this would be the part where Ray would flee for safer environs. That desire was cockblocked by the fact that he wasn't supposed to go anywhere with the damned computer by himself. Instead Ray was left there standing like an idiot, his prize clutched against his chest as he tried to look inconspicuous. 

"You can leave, Sergeant," Griego said. 

"Uh, actually, I can't be alone with this?" Ray told him. "It's a two-man rule deal."

"Well isn't that convenient."

"Not really. Master Sergeant."

"If you'd prefer, sir," Nate said to Encino Man, "we can drop this off upstairs and I could meet you in your office immediately afterward?"

"No, Godfather wants to talk with all the company commanders, so I got to make this short. Your platoon was late returning to the ships again. I thought we were improving last time, but this was even worse."

"I promise, Lieutenant, that I followed your instructions about minimizing prior reconnaissance," Nate replied. "In fact, other than while waiting for the kickoff time for the first target, we didn't do any. We also maintained the maximum safe speed while in transit."

"So what happened?"

"We got caught up completing one of the mission objectives."

"Does it have something to do with that?" Encino Man said, nodding at Ray and his salvage. "We're supposed to be doing hit and runs, not picking up stuff."

"Your little detours are leaving the rest of us out to dry," Griego said. "You need to start explaining why."

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I was given a very specific list of people I could discuss details with," Nate said, flat out ignoring the weasel, "and the master sergeant was not on it."

"Come on, Nate," Encino Man said. "It's not that big of a deal."

"It is a big deal, sir," Griego said before Nate could reply. "We can't tell if there's a real problem if he's hiding stuff away. Frankly, it sounds like he's getting completely off-mission." 

"Master Sergeant," Nate said in a dangerously level tone, still not looking away from Encino Man, "if you continue to pry, I will have no choice but to report this conversation to Internal Security."

"Sarge, just give us a minute," Encino Man said with a put-upon sigh. Once Griego had stalked off, he went on, "Nate, you have to see how this is making us all look bad. Other companies aren't having these kinds of delays."

"I understand, sir. I'm not happy either, but there were technical complications."

"That's just not good enough. If battalion gives you a timeline for this secret stuff, they expect it to get done in that timeline. Otherwise it wouldn't be the timeline."

"Sir, can I be frank?" 

Encino Man gave Ray a suspicious look, but nodded. "Shoot."

"There's obviously been a breakdown in communication between you, me, battalion, and the task force planning staff. Maybe something got missed when you were brought on, or someone in Intelligence got a little too clever about keeping things secret. You've worked on headquarters staff before, you know how they get."

In the moment Nate sounded so completely earnest, like someone fresh out of the Academy who still believed in truth, justice, and the Starfleet way, that even Ray believed him for a moment. He probably would if he hadn't been there the first time Nate had used the words 'genetic throwback' while talking with Brad.

"They do get a little squirrely," their commander agreed.

"I want to be a team player. I really do. I'm just getting mixed messages from the coaching staff." Oh, nice sports analogy, Ray thought, very good way to dumb it down. "I think if we sit down with the Plans team or whoever else needs to be involved and hammer this out, we can get back to working from the same playbook and Godfather will be much happier with our performance."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea, Nate," Encino Man said with a smile. "I'll send a message to the XO and get that arranged."

"Thank you, sir. I just want to be the best platoon commander I can be for you."

If being privy to inter-officer drama was uncomfortable, it had nothing on the discovery that Ray was turned on by Nate's voice when it was full of sincerity and conviction. 

"That's great. Although I did just get told that our next mission's been bumped up to tomorrow morning, so in the meantime, I need you to be extra aggressive about hitting your targets and keeping your speed up."

Nate sucked in a deep breath. "Yes, sir."

"I'll catch you later." Encino Man ambled off, presumably in search of a mammoth to club or something.

"Come on, let's drop this thing off," Nate said to Ray.

"That was inspired. You should have been an actor."

"I think I got the idea through."

"Until he gets distracted. How does a man so dumb get to be in Recon?"

Nate didn't even bother to chide him about personal feelings or derogatory remarks about other officers. "I'm told he was well regarded when he was running force protection."

"Oh, that makes sense. Take a guy who's good at guarding hospitals or convoys or whatever, and stick him in charge of a fast raiding force. Very typical Starfleet, always trying to expand the horizons of its officers."

"He'll adapt sooner or later. Or not, and the problem will sort itself out."

Yeah, sure, the question was how many other people would get sorted out along with him. Ray would have said it to Brad, but Nate was having a shitty enough day as it was. 

"You know this is just going to cause Griego to get pissier, right?" Ray asked. "Schwetje's easy to please, but his sidekick's got a mean streak and eggs him on."

"I don't give a fuck," Nate replied. After a few seconds more, he sighed and said, "Okay, I do, but only because he might take it out on the guys. Hopefully once you finish training some more techs, the pressure will come off us."

"Sure, let's be optimistic and pretend he won't hold a grudge."

"If he tries to give you any shit, tell Brad," Nate said, expression grim. "And if he so much as questions what you had to eat on the mission, call the task force IntSec officer immediately. Let them talk some sense into him."

"Do you have any idea what'll happen if I not only go over Schwetje's head, but straight past battalion?"

"A torrential downpour of shit will come crashing down our command structure and I'll be stuck playing umbrella." Nate shrugged. "But Greigo will be in it even deeper. Meanwhile you're just a lowly enlisted man following procedures given to you directly by the folks at special missions, so no one will blame you."

"See, that kind of thinking is why I'm happy to be regarded as a dumb grunt."

"Just this once I'll admit you may have a reason to remain that way."

The fourth mission, the Dominion got a clue. 

This time it was a two-company mission, Bravo fucking around with power plant and industrial stuff while Charlie blew up a bunch of coastal deuterium extractors a thousand klicks to the south. For an added bonus, each platoon landed separately, working off the idea that they could cover more ground and that even if each LZ was more vulnerable to attack, they were much less likely to be discovered. Ray wasn't sure he believed that logic at all, but no one had asked his opinion. 

On the bright side, Ray got the fly the ship, because he'd completed his small craft certification and the moment Flight Control heard that they'd immediately yanked their runabout's pilot for other duties. Apparently there weren't enough to go around. 

Bravo Two only had two major targets, along with every power substation and other soft target they happened to pass and a trio of sensor drop-offs. The first was a solar farm, which went about as great as you could hope for. Lots of easily-shattered silicone panels, plenty of space the maneuver, minimal defenses.

The second, some kind of chemical processing plant, had fucking Jem'hadar all over the place instead of the usual rear-echelon Cardie jerkoffs. None of them had heavy weapons, but a standard plasma rifle was plenty if you aimed it well enough, as Two-Two found out the hard way, not that they told anyone except the LT until they were clear and back to the LZ. 

"Wow," Trombley said, peering through the slagged hole that went clean through the front of Two-Two's victor and into the right side of the passenger compartment. "That's kind of cool, isn't it?"

"No, it's not fucking cool," Ray told him. "Pappy got hurt."

"I guess he's lucky he didn't get hit in the nuts."

"And you're lucky Rudy isn't here to strangle you. Stop looking at their victor and go back to packing ours." Ray gave him a shove in that direction and continued into the runabout's cockpit. Doc was up there along with Pappy, who was sitting in one of the chairs with his leg elevated. 

"Why are you doing this up here?" Ray demanded, sitting down at the pilot's station to start his preflight. 

"There's more space, better lighting, and it's cleaner," Doc replied. He extracted a piece of shrapnel from the mangled mess of Pappy's foot and dropped it into the small pool of blood that was forming on the deck. 

"It was cleaner. We're never getting that stain out."

"I damn near got my foot shot off," Pappy complained, "and you're worried about the floor?"

"It's just some fucking lacerations and a few shattered bones," Doc told Pappy. "Stop your fucking whining."

"Let me take a phaser to your foot and see how you react."

"You know," Ray interjected, "the LT almost got stabbed to death and he wasn't a big baby about it."

"The LT obviously got brain damaged from all the drugs and blood loss," Pappy replied. "Otherwise he'd find someone better looking than you to take to bed."

"Shit, don't say that so loud. He might start thinking about it and replace me with Walt."

"Walt's got too much self-respect for that," Nate said, coming up behind him. "Doc, how is he?"

"An hour in surgery and a few days without walking too much will fix the foot," Doc said. "Nothing I can do about the attitude."

"Are you about done?"

"Couple more minutes and I'll have it closed up enough to last until we get him into sickbay."

"Good. We should be oscar mike in ten."

"Encino Man yelling at us about being late yet?" Ray asked. 

"No. Sounds like the other platoons ran into tougher opposition, too. Three had to abandon a victor in the field."

"Who could have seen that coming? Certainly not us, since we weren't allowed any scouting."

"Ray," Nate said. "Not now."

"Ain't like he's wrong," Pappy said. "Sometimes I think that man forgets that 'reconnaissance' is part of our name."

"How come he gets to say stuff like that?"

Nate just silently judged them for a while. "Brad, sitrep?"

"We're locked down and ready to go," Brad replied from behind Nate, having just entered the cockpit. "What's got you grouchy?"

"I'm not grouchy."

"Maybe Person isn't doing enough to relieve his stress," Doc suggested. "Blue balls can make an officer as irritable as any other man."

"Is that the problem, LT?" Ray asked. "If you want, we can take a few minutes in the head and I can help you out with it."

Nate looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "If you could take your seats, gentlemen."

"Come on," Doc said to Pappy, "let's show Rudy you still have everything attached."

Brad had fewer compunctions than Nate about the laughter thing. He had a cocky grin as he settled into the copilot's chair. "You should be happy, sir. The guys being comfortable to joke with you is a sign of respect."

"Seriously," Ray added, "if you want some quick road head, now's the time."

"No, Ray," Nate said. "I wouldn't want Brad to get jealous."

"He can have sloppy seconds."

Brad just shook his head. "Thank you, Ray, but I think I will have to decline. I don't want my cock anywhere near that scraggly-toothed hole you call a mouth."

"Your loss."

The comms chimed and Bravo's comm specialist started speaking, voice hard to make out over the hissing of the low-power channel. _"All Bravo runabouts, initiate takeoff. Rendezvous with Charlie once clear of the atmosphere and maintain emissions control out of the system."_

"That's our cue," Nate said. 

The runabout lifted off vertically before tilting and making a steep vertical ascent. Ray kept one eye on the sensors as they climbed, wanting to make sure there wasn't a surprise waiting for them in orbit. Thus far Starfleet Intelligence had proven mostly reliable about sending them where there weren't any ships, but Alpha and Delta had needed to wave off a mission when they'd spotted a gunboat over a target. Their ships were designed to be stealthy and their small size helped a lot, but that only went so far. 

"Brad, what's with those emissions on the southern peninsula?" Ray asked as he spotted something weird, not in orbit but behind them. "The source two hundred klicks south of Third's LZ."

"I'm not sure," Brad said, frowning at his display. "It wasn't there when we came in."

"Problem?" Nate asked.

"I don't know," Ray said. "But that looks a lot like some kind of targeting scanner. Not Cardie, though. Could be Dominion, we don't have a good read on their version."

"This planet doesn't have any kind of defense system."

"Doesn't," Brad said, "or didn't?"

"Break emissions control," Nate ordered, "and do an active scan."

After a moment, Brad said, "There's a mobile torpedo battery," in the same tone he'd use to observe a dog's color. 

Nate reached past Ray to hit the comms panel. "All Recon units, Bravo-Two. Be advised we have detected enemy anti-aircraft systems locking on."

About a hundred alarms went off at once as that targeting scanner went into full power mode and tracking beams locked directly onto them. That was immediately followed by a volley of a dozen torpedoes launching from the surface. Another brace came shooting from further north, closer to where Charlie had been.

"Full evasive," Nate said. 

"Got it," Ray said, throwing all worries about stealth in the wind and pushing the impulse engines to their limit. 

"How soon can we go to warp?"

"Forty seconds," Brad replied. The same stealth features that kept them unnoticed also required a lengthier time to warm up the nacelles. 

"You should probably sit down," Ray said. 

Nate shook his head. Instead he stood between them, putting his hands on their shoulders. "We all know if one of those hits it's not going to matter."

A couple of the torpedoes locked onto them and Ray threw the ship into a spiralling course. They had an advantage in starting speed and height, forcing the missiles to both climb and match their velocity, but that only went so far against something so much lighter and faster. Every evasive maneuver bought them a little less time than the last. Around them the other runabouts scattered, some diving low to use the atmosphere as cover and others trying to run rather than evade. There were a pair of distant flashes as two ships were hit and disintegrated in space.

The engine charge cycle completed and Ray hit the engage key. The starscape ahead flashed into streaks of light as they left the planet and torpedoes far behind.

"Fuck me," Ray said, collapsing back into his chair and running his hands through his hair. "Do we know who that was?"

"Charlie, I think," Nate replied. "One and Two, maybe."

"Fuck."

"They were waiting for us," Brad said. "They must have put mobile launchers on a few planets. All they had to do was wait for us to attack, then hit us during liftoff when we were vulnerable."

"Why not shoot us down before we burned all their shit?" Ray demanded. 

"Easier to engage us while we're climbing out of the gravity well," Nate said. "Set a course for the rendezvous point. I'm going to get on comms with the rest of the runabouts."

It was a long, quiet ride back to _Mathilda_. Nate let the guys in the back know that half of Charlie had just died once it was clear there was no further pursuit. When they landed, there was none of the usual joking and trash talk as they filed out of the runabout. The only commotion was stretcher teams arriving to rush the injured off to sickbay, just one for Pappy but several more for each other the other platoons. Even that couldn't distract Ray from the thought of what had to be going on in the next hangar over, where there were two empty landing pads.

There was a whistle across the bay. Encino Man was standing on top of a crate, Griego at his side. He waved them everyone over, and waited until the company was assembled in a loose, jumbled semi-circle.

"So, uh, that got a little rough spots," he said. "We got our nose bloodied a bit. But we toughed it out. Showed the enemy that we're not going to be intimidated. Most importantly, we completed our mission and took the fight to them again."

He waited almost expectantly for a few seconds, but the bay was silent except for the clanks and shouts of the deck crew locking their runabouts down.

"I've been talking with Godfather on our way in," Encino Man continued. "Obviously what happened with Charlie's a pretty big blow, and we're gonna have to figure out what went wrong, but overall he is very pleased with how we did on this mission."

Nate shook his head and muttered to Ray, "Other than that, Chancellor Atzetbur, how was dinner?"

"Did you have something to say, Lieutenant?" Griego snapped.

"I was just complementing Sergeant Person for his flying," Nate said. 

"Right," Encino Man said, giving Ray a big smile. "Well done to everyone at the helm today. You definitely saved our bacon. Let's give them a round of applause."

That did elicit some claps and cheers, and a few pats on the back for Ray and the other pilots.

"We'll start after action reports in the morning. Get some sleep so we can be ready to go again as soon as Godfather has our next targets. Dismissed."

This time they weren't told to be ready again immediately. Instead, the ship took a detour to drop off some of the RCT assholes to help evacuate a border colony while Recon evaluated its next step. That lead to Nate, Brad, and Ray being called up to a conference room for some more side quest bullshit.

The admiral was there, of course. Seated down one side were Lt. Commander Terese Forgotten-Name and a gaggle of gold and blue shirts. On the other was the battalion XO, Eckloff, and a couple of the Plans staffers. 

"It has been suggested," Soltani said once they were seated, in lieu of a greeting, "that there is a need for greater communication regarding your mission parameters. So here we are. Communicating. And by we I mean you will hash this out, while I go concentrate on things like running this fucking task force."

Ray wasn't stupid. He sure as fuck wasn't opening his mouth in this situation until someone asked him a question. 

"I have already spoken with Ferrando at length, and we are in agreement that the Dominion has greatly improved its response time to our hit and run raids," Soltani said. "We're going to have to rework our strategy, but one thing is clear: continuing to send the same platoon to both gather intelligence and raise havoc is only going to cause both missions to fail. As such, Bravo Two will be detached for its next few missions until all target worlds are seeded. You will be acting purely in a recon capacity. In, out, unnoticed."

"Ma'am, I'm not sure that's a good idea," Nate said. "I don't like the idea of splitting off, especially if everyone else in the battalion is continuing regular missions."

"Your objection is noted. Your discomfort is understandable, and irrelevant."

"The battalion's losses are starting to add up. I don't think Commander Ferrando or Lt. Schwetje will like -"

"They will like what Starfleet Command tells them to like. So will you," she snapped. "I'd think you'd be happy. Your platoon will be safer this way."

"We're here to fight this war, alongside our brothers and sisters. Risk is our business."

"A noble sentiment. But incorrect. You are not here to fight the war. You are here to win it." Soltani stood. "Debrief the technical staff on your experiences so far, then work out a plan to seed the remaining targets."

She swept out of the room, leaving the rest of them to stare awkwardly at each other. Even the XO didn't look like he wanted to be the first to speak.

"So," Terese said after a minute. "How about those radios?"

Over the next couple weeks, they visited a half-dozen more Dominion worlds, and then a few more along the border that weren't Dominion yet but might be soon enough. These missions were much quieter than the previous ones. No shooting, no quick escapes, just half a day quietly travelling around the deserted reaches of a planet, bookended by long flights. Each time they'd lead a team to guard the ship while the rest of them took the skimmers out. Ray suspected that if Nate could have his way they'd have left everyone but the most essential platoon members behind, but having the chance to make a fighting escape outweighed the extra risk. With no need to coordinate with other platoons, they mostly worked at night. It all proceeded without any incident. In Ray's book, that was a win, even if they were starting to get some dirty looks as other platoons and companies deployed to other assignments that they were allowed to actually talk about. 

The one time they did an actual mission with the entire company, rooting out some forward scouts that had popped up on Federation border colony, Encino Man promptly tried to call in orbital fire right on their own position. Ray was starting to understand why the ancient Earth custom of fragging had been a thing. Certainly the Klingon practice of stabbing bad commanders with a sword seemed to have its upsides.

The end of the beginning came just as suddenly as the war had started.

They'd heard rumors, of course. A big push by three fleets, six hundred ships heading toward Bajor. The Dominion's forces in the sector pulled from their own offensives and smashed, and some sort of mystical voodoo happening at the wormhole to keep their reinforcements on the other side. None of it meant much to Recon, though. Fleets went back and forth all the time. Recon continued to roll around in the dirt regardless. 

No, they were proceeding as normal, right down to Ray being roped into giving a technical briefing to all of the company's officers and team leaders. The official technical specialist who hung out with Encino Man's team was off recovering from mission-related radiation poisoning or some shit, and apparently Ray was the only one competent enough to teach the other idiots.

"Long story short, R&D has come up with some improvements to our tricorders," Ray said to the group, which was assembled in a conference room that was just slightly too small to hold them comfortably. "They're supposed to be a lot better at picking up shrouded Jem'hadar. It'll help with our night vision gear, too."

"So are we getting replacements?" Kocher asked.

"Nope. It's just a software update. Also, the tech guys over at H&S aren't going to do the upgrade for us, so we have to take care of it ourselves." Ray hit the key to move on to his next slide, an animation showing tricorder's software settings menu. "That part's just a matter of turning on the network connection and hitting the software synch button, so I think you guys can get your teams done in a couple minutes."

Actually, he wasn't sure about their company leaders at all, but fuck 'em. 

"If it was just an update," Brad said, "why do we need this meeting? Why can't someone - you, for example - just take an hour to do it for everyone?"

"Well, Staff Sergeant, there's three reasons. One, I'm not actually the company technical specialist. Second, teams are supposed to maintain their own scanners, just like their weapons. And third, they changed the scan displays so you need to teach your illiterate underlings how to read the results."

"Why the fuck are we worrying about this now?" Griego groussed. "Can't it wait until later?"

"Hey, we can do it whenever you want, you're the company ops chief," Ray said, "but if we don't do it before the next mission someone's getting stabbed by an invisible Jem'hadar again."

"We can do it after leave, then."

There was a stirring among the assembled lieutenants and sergeants. In a remarkable display, for once Captain Federation wasn't the only one looking completely confused.

"Leave?" Kocher said.

"Oh, yeah," Encino Man said, turning in his chair to look at everyone else. "The ship's heading to Risa right now. With the Dominion offensive stopped, Command wants us to get some R&R and do some training to get the replacements in Charlie up to speed. I thought it'd be a nice surprise for the guys."

Nate waited long enough for it to be clear no one else was going to stick their neck out. "Sir, that's very... thoughtful. But do you know if Lt. Patterson or the other company commanders are making it a surprise?"

"Uh. No, I don't think so." Encino Man frowned. "I guess it might be hard to keep secret if they don't."

"I think the men would appreciate hearing it from you and not random guys in Alpha. It'd give you a chance to pass along good news for once, too."

"That's a good idea. Thanks, Nate." Encino Man looked at Ray. "Keep going, Sergeant. We should probably do this before everyone comes back with hangovers."

That was probably the single smartest thing Ray had ever heard him say. "Yes, sir. So the actual scanning process hasn't changed all that much. Mostly your joes just need to know what the results mean."

Immediately after the briefing was finished, Encino Man called everyone together so he could make the big announcement. There was plenty of clapping, although a lot of it accompanied by eye rolls and muttered whispers suggesting he was about an hour too late. Still, the mood was good enough that everyone tried to humor him. Trying to get the guys to focus on anything other than their upcoming debauchery rapidly began to remind Ray that he hated being an authority figure.

The next morning, Walt and Ray were having breakfast together and discussing the finer points of Risa. Neither of them had actually been before, but it had a pretty well-known reputation. It was famously welcoming and hospitable, both geographically and culturally. Any planet that had easy ways to signal that you were down to fuck was great in Ray's book. There was an entire array of little figurines to advertise what you were looking for.

"Not like you're going to need that," Walt told him. 

"I mean, sure, basically every single person down there's going to be looking to score," Ray said, "but why wouldn't I want a fuck statue just to be extra clear?"

"Think it over." Walt waited patiently for him to figure out, because even if he was an asshole occasionally most of the time was basically a human-shaped sunbeam and a pretty good friend.

"Oh. Right." Yeah, Ray was definitely going to be getting laid without any signaling. 

"Ray, please tell me that you actually have some kind of plan for what to do while we're on leave."

"Fuck, no, I don't. When have I ever needed one beyond getting a room, finding a bar with good booze, and then trying to get it on with whoever had the biggest tits and/or cock in the room." Ray flagged down Brad as he walked past with a tray. "Hey, I've got a question for you."

Brad rolled his eyes but went around the table to sit down to Ray's right. "Do you need me to explain the concept of forks and spoons to you?"

Ray refused to be drawn off topic. "What are you supposed to do on libo if you're not whoring around?"

Brad looked uncharacteristically perplexed, as if the idea that you could go on leave and not head straight to the nearest club or brothel had never occurred to him. "Drink."

Ray tried to imagine Nate getting completely smashed. It was hard to even imagine him drunk, although surely it had to have happened at some point. "Other than that."

"It's a tropical paradise."

"Do not say surfing," Ray told him. "I'm not surfing, and you've got to have other hobbies too."

"Hiking. Skiing. Mountain climbing."

There were times when Ray wondered why he even liked Brad. "That's what I do for work."

"You could go to a museum," Walt suggested. 

"Do they even have museums? It's a resort planet."

"It's not literally just a resort. It's got its own history and culture and shit. Besides, they've got to have something for people who hate the outdoors."

"Have you considered," Brad said, "asking the LT what he wants to do?"

"I've got to have ideas of my own! Otherwise I'm going to sound like a complete loser."

"That would be a pretty accurate assessment."

"Whatever, you're terrible judge of character." To Walt, Ray said, "Is it wrong that I'm more worried about fucking up what might be our only chance to do actual date things than I am about the war?"

Walt nodded. "It makes you sound like a super fucked up loser."

"I'm fucked up?" Ray was putting together the opening of a truly scathing diatribe about how a man who was receiving scented letter - actual paper ones, which even Ray's mom would call excessively old-fashioned! - had no room calling anyone a loser when the alert sirens sounded. 

_"Red alert!"_ the intercom announced. _"All hands, man battlestations."_

"In the middle of breakfast, really?" Ray shouted to the heavens as he and a couple hundred other guys abandoned their meals and scrambled for the doors. 

Ray's station was practically at the other end of the ship and then down a half-dozen levels through a connecting dorsal into the transport pod, then further back again to its rear side. There was a cramped troop bay there that acted as an emergency shelter. Inside there were four cramped aisles of seats, fifteen on a side spaced barely far apart enough to allow a person to walk through them. Each company had its own bay, spaced out across two decks, so that no single hit was likely to take out the entire battalion. They were also located near the escape pods and runabout hangars.

Team leaders were posted up near the entrances, counting guys off as they filed in. Ray gave Poke a wave as he checked to see his guys were present and headed for his assigned seat. His was near the front, right next to Brad and Nate, while their children, Walt, and Trombley were opposite them. After that it mostly went by team number down the aisle. 

"Two-One accounted for," Poke shouted to Brad, who was standing at the opposite door. "Lilley, put that fucking camera away and get in your fucking seat."

There was a commotion somewhere behind Ray, not quite audible due to the shrapnel barriers separating each platoon's aisle. At a guess, it was probably wailing about how they were all going to die, this is a shitshow, the Fleeties are going to crash into something, and so on. 

"I can't believe someone hasn't landed a shuttle on this asshole yet," Ray said to Stafford, jerking his thumb back before locking his seatbelt in place..

"Be kind of messy, brah."

"They probably would make us clean it off, wouldn't they?"

"You're a sergeant, you can give the job to someone else."

"Don't give him ideas," Walt said. 

Nate came through the door and Brad squeezed up the aisle to reach him.

"Second platoon present," Brad said to Nate. "Looks like we're still missing a couple from Third and the command group. Is this a drill, sir?"

"If it is, no one told me."

A whistle sounded and the trilling voice of their Aurellian chauffeur came over the comm. _"All hands, this is the captain. We have Jem'hadar attack ships inbound. We're not going to be able to outrun them, so the task force is turning to engage. All sections secure for combat maneuvers."_

"Check the gear under your seats," Nate called out as he walked up and down the line. "If we get tapped for damage control or S&R, we don't have time for fumbling with it. Remember your escape pod numbers, and stick with your buddy."

"Sir, if I may suggest," Brad said, "perhaps you should sit the fuck down yourself? We even saved you a seat."

"Since you insist, Staff Sergeant, and I do want to set a good example." Nate sat down between Brad and Ray and made a show of making sure his straps were snug. "Satisfied?"

"Yes, sir."

"You know," Trombley said across from them, "someone once told me you're better off unbuckled, because otherwise you might get stuck if there's a fire."

"No. That's - no," Ray said. "I don't even know where to begin. Put it on."

He did so while saying, "I think I'd rather die in a fire than get sucked into space. It seems like it'd be lonely."

"I have to ask," Ray said to Nate, "why is it you two have Stafford watching your backs and I have this crazy motherfucker?"

"You have Hasser," Nate replied. "It averages out."

"Thank you, sir," Walt said.

There was a sudden tug to the right, not so much like a victor vearing too sharply as the ship's entire gravity field tilting sideways. The already dim lights flickered several times while a series of distant thuds resonated through the deck plating.

"What was that?" Ray asked.

"We're launching torpedoes," Brad responded. "What the fuck is our escort doing if we're firing at something?" 

"They're Fleeties. They've spent the last four months completely fucking up the war in space. You expect them to do this any better now?"

"To be fair," Nate said, "their big victory is the reason we're able to get leave."

"Do I sound like I want to be fair?"

The entire ship rocked, the deck dropping away so suddenly Ray thought he was in freefall for a moment. The lights flickered as several more shudders rippled through the ship, then died entirely as another shock jerked them to the sides. Dim red emergency lighting filled the compartment.

A different voice came over the comm. _"Damage control parties Gold and Bronze, report to Deck Six, Section Eleven."_

There was a sudden silence as the scattered chatter died out entirely, save for a muffled and unending stream of cursing from over in Third Platoon's aisle. As the ship groaned, Nate's arm brushed against Ray's, then he straight up clasped his hand. 

"I know what you're thinking, Ray," Nate said, more loudly the noises of the ship around them warranted. Even guys at the other end of the aisle glanced their way. "You're thinking, this ship is really old."

Ray rolled his eyes but played along with maximum ham for the sake of the other dumbasses trapped in an ancient tin can with them. "Gee, LT, that's right. You must be one of them there espers."

"God, I hate you," Walt muttered. "You give us hicks a bad name."

"Well, it's true, but they finished a refit of the defense systems right before we came aboard. You might as well be on a modern ship this size as far as the shields are concerned. Better, really. We don't have many weapons so all that power goes into the deflectors instead."

"But what if the shields fail anyways?" Ray asked obediently.

"We're in luck there. They built ships strong back in the 2290s, and new structural integrity fields only made them stronger. There's a reason the Excelsior class is still so common, and this design is derived from that one. It takes a lot to put one down."

"My gran always said they don't build 'em like they used so."

"Then you have to consider that we're technically inside an entirely separate ship. The troop carrier pods might be sublight-only, but they do have their own engines and shields. Worst comes to worst, they'll release us. We won't even need the escape pods." Nate grinned. "So when you think about it, really, we're a lot better off than we would be on one of those newer, fully-integrated troop ships from the '60s where half the hull is made of windows."

"Thanks, LT. I feel safer already."

"So fucking embarassing," Walt said, pinching the brow of his nose. "Brad, how can you sit there and listen to this?"

Brad shushed him. "Quiet, Hasser, I'm trying to meditate."

Ray looked past Nate and sure enough the fucker was sitting there with his eyes closed. Ray couldn't even tell if this was legitimately some bullshit Vulcan voodoo or if Brad was just playing the opposite side of Nate's talky tactics by showing just how little he cared about the possibility of exploding in space.

Over the next few minutes, the shakes and shimmies died off. The lights turned back on and a few seconds later Nate released Ray's hand, scratching at his head with it as he yawned dramatically like he'd just been having a nap. He unbuckled and stood up.

The comms came to life. _"All sections, secure to yellow alert. Report casualties to sickbay immediately. Be advised that Deck Six starboard is receiving emergency repairs and should be avoided. Further information will follow."_"

"Fuck, that's probably the mess hall," Ray complained. "We're finally getting away from the fighting for a while and we're going to be still stuck on rat packs."

Around them the chatter went straight from a handful of whispers to a full-on roar as all the guys and gals around them started telling each other than obviously none of them had been the least bit concerned about how they might all from a single unlucky shot. 

Nate looked away from a whispered conversation he was having with Brad and leaned in close.

"Don't worry," he said into Ray's ear. "I've got something planned that'll make up for it."

"What's that?"

"You'll find out, probably right after I fuck you so hard you come your brains out." Nate winked and as Ray sat there gobsmacked he walked off toward Captain Federation.


	5. Madness In My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they go on shore leave, do some romantic shit, and Ray gets yelled at a bunch because he starts one little bar fight and bites a senior NCO.

_Risa_  
Stardate 51255.6 

Risa was a pretty cool place. 

It was also the first planet they'd actually been invited to visit for half a year. With the allied forces advancing for a change, their entire brigade and associated fleet elements had been pulled back to rest, recover, and rebuild. The first stop on their grand decompression tour was Risa for a week of much-needed shore leave. Through the power of friendship, which was to say by rooming with Brad, Nate and Ray were able to get a really great suite with only a slight adjustment to the reservation system's random number generator.

The same day they arrived, after they'd broken in the king-sized bed in their room, Nate finally made good on his promise of dinner. He'd found a restaurant that served not just Earth-originated food, but North American styles. It was also the fanciest one Ray had ever been in. His home town wasn't big on ostentatious displays, but they had a few nice places you could take a date. This was something out of one of the gilded ages, all glittering crystal and candlelight. Even in his uniform Ray felt horribly underdressed.

"Okay," Ray said, looking around his swanky surroundings, "if this is the sort of joint being an officer gets you into, maybe I'll have to give in."

"This is the Federation, Ray. Senior enlisted have plenty of social cachet too. Also, there was a raffle."

"Sometimes you're too honest for your own good."

"An officer's first duty is to the truth," Nate replied. His smile faltered and he looked at the table to hide that from Ray. "Not that it applies much right now."

"Here's a truth for you: you've kept us alive while completing our missions. I'll take that one over any others."

"That's more of a present fact than a truth. Sooner or later it's going to change. We've had enough close calls it's more luck than any skill at this point."

"It's been months," Ray pointed out, trying not to think too hard about how many times he'd almost seen Nate die in front of him. "Hasn't happened yet. No, don't say anything. We've got an entire week where no one's trying to kill us. Let's try to act like normal people on vacation for a while." 

"I'm not sure I remember how to be normal," Nate replied, but he was starting to smile again. "And I'm not sure you ever have been."

"I'm normal where I'm from. You can be assured of that."

"I don't think even I can be credulous enough to believe it. Just look at your attempts at romance."

"I know your impression of me is skewed by the fact that our relationship has been built on study sessions, mission planning, movies in the one private room on the ship, and fucking on a bed that's not large enough for one person," Ray said, "but back home I have a reputation as a great romantic."

"You left home at eighteen. No one's a great romantic at that age."

"I'll prove it to you this week." 

"I look forward to it."

Fuck, now Ray needed to find some way to match this extravegence. Nate had probably been planning it from the moment they got word of where they'd be getting leave. Maybe he could get some backup from Brad, or hack reservation system of some other restaurant that served... whatever the hell would be like home for someone from Maryland. Seafood?

The thought was broken as Ray tensed up as unfamiliar footsteps approached their table, not matching those of their waitress. Nate did too, just for a moment, until he glanced over Ray's shoulder and relaxed. A moment later a skinny, heavily tattooed woman with a shaved head, a chef's apron and hat, and cowboy boots was standing at their table. 

"How y'all doing tonight?" she said with a distinct Texan accent that both confirmed what the awful footwear suggested and gave him a pang of sorrow from missing Mike. "Fick and Person, right? I understand one of you's a bit of a connoisseur for the finer points of the ol' BBQ. I've got some pretty good brisket going tonight. Pork too, if that's more your thing." 

Rather than respond directly, Ray said, "Jesus, Nate. I thought you said this place did barbeque, not slop."

"It's the best place serving it in the resort," Nate replied, a little bemused as he often was when Ray went off the rails. "Maybe on the planet. My contacts promised me this."

"I'm sure some people think so, but maybe they don't know what it's actually supposed to be like."

"Huh. Missouri boy, are you?" the chef said. "Well, I suppose I can compromise a little, on account of you being a war hero and all."

"No, don't change anything for my sake. Go ahead and try to convince me someone from Texas can actually cook. Maybe I'll be surprised."

"I'll see if I can live up to your standards, Sergeant."

"Do I even want to know?" Nate asked. 

Ray shook his head. "No, but you're going to."

Ray was pretty sure that he was completely proving himself wrong about being a great romantic by spending most of their dinner explaining the finer points of different barbecue styles, and why the greatest tragedy of WWIII was that North Carolina hadn't been purged with cleansing fire, but Nate seemed amused and that was pretty satisfying in and of itself. 

It didn't stop him from getting laid, either. 

"Do you know what's really weird?" Ray asked about midnight, one arm draped across Nate's chest and the rest of him sprawled out as much as possible, simply because he could. A cool ocean breeze wafted through the window.

"I know a lot of weird things," Nate replied. "Me, for one."

"Thank you for not saying 'you.'"

"Part of what makes me weird is you. But don't feel too singled out, Brad factors into it as well."

"I'm pretty sure all three of us are in some kind of feedback loop."

"You were saying?"

"This is the first time we've slept together."

"Huh."

"Like, we've fucked reasonably often given the circumstances. Plenty of handies and blowjobs. But how often have we, like, cuddled?"

Nate laughed softly. "My big, strong, horny ranger wants to cuddle more?"

"Fuck, yes! There's so many unexplored questions here. Like, who's the big spoon and the little spoon?"

"Does one of us run too hot for the other? Toss and turn?"

"Exactly. What's the blanket situation like? You seem like the sort of bony motherfucker who gets chilly and steals them all."

Nate pulled him closer. "Neither of us are overflowing with extra muscle mass."

They both grew still for a few seconds as they heard the outside door of the suite open and close. A shadow passed in front of their own bedroom, but by that point they'd both relaxed, recognizing the footsteps as Brad's. No doubt he'd spent the few hours of privacy he'd given them making a lucky gal or three very happy.

"I score very well for my height on PT tests," Ray continued in a low whisper. 

"So do I, but you're still scrawny and I still have the build of a stick figure."

"A very tall and handsome stick figure."

"You know," Nate said, a devilish grin visible in the faint moonlight leaking through the curtains, "if you were an officer, we could get joint quarters with a real bed."

"Never going to happen."

There was a rap at the door, and Brad called, "I can tell you're being sappy in there. Either get some sleep for once or fuck like normal people."

"Go away!" Ray shouted. The light out there shut off and the footsteps moved off toward the other bedroom. 

"I've usually found his advice pretty sound," Nate said, "so which do you want to do?"

As if he needed to ask. At some point in the week maybe they'd be fucked out enough to merely make sweet, sweet love, but they were still at the quick, rough, and dirty stage. They did it again in the morning, while Brad was out for a run, and in the early evening after a day of museums and attempted surfing lessons. 

Because they were not in fact entirely codependent on each other, and also because they had different interests and needed at least a little time apart after living in each other's pockets for months, the third night in they split up. Nate went off to watch some Shakespearean bullshit involving Hamlet in Klingon that Ray absolutely refused to attend, because even if he was being forced to learn languages in case he was caught without a translator he was not learning them while on vacation. Brad had some kind of surf tournament a couple time zones over and had dragged Poke along for some besties bonding. As Ray was now a responsible adult, he decided his best choice was to take his (half of a) team off to dinner to reward them for not getting themselves or, more importantly, him killed thus far. Veda begged off, giving excuses that boiled down to wanting to hang out with the other PFCs instead of old people, because apparently Ray was too old to be cool now.

Fucking kids these days.

By dinner Ray meant he'd scoped out a tavern that had an actual kitchen and some house beers instead of just a fucking replicator and a stockroom full of random imports. He was a backwards hick but he wasn't a complete barbarian. Which wasn't to say he didn't plan to get completely smashed, but unlike the crowd of other Rangers and Fleeties filling the place he would actually appreciate the process. He recognized a few dozen other people in the growing crowd, a handful from their battalion and the rest either from _Mathilda_'s crew or the other Ranger units aboard, and none of them had any understanding of the finer things in life.

"Does anyone know how toasts are supposed to work?" Ray asked. He was already having to raise his voice over the noise filling the place. The tavern had a T-shaped layout and they were around the corner of one of the side bits, conveniently placed relative to both the bar and some pool tables, so they were isolated from the worst effects of their uncultured fellows. 

"You just say something and drink, right?" Trombley said. 

Walt was getting that pinched look he had anytime he was wishing he'd gone with regular security track and could be on a ship full of wine-sipping pansies. "I can't believe I'm from the same planet as you guys."

"I'm not hearing any suggestions from you," Ray said. He raised his glass. "To the best lieutenant in Starfleet, who shields our asses from being fucked by command."

"All but one ass," Mrr'sha said once they'd taken a drink. "Thank you for your sacrifice, Ray."

"It's a difficult duty, but one I'll gladly do so no one else has to."

"To Brad," Walt suggested, "for not being a complete asshole."

"Not completely," Ray agreed. "I can drink to that."

Poke was the obvious next choice. Doc after that for not murdering them all in their sleep. Then the other team leaders, because presumably they were pretty cool guys too, if not up the standard of their own.

"Actually," Mrr'sha said as they waited for the server to come back around with refills, "going back to the LT. Specifically you and him."

"Yeah?" Ray said.

"I've been wondering how literal I should be taking some of what people say."

"Neither of us actually have thirty-centimeter cocks, if that's what you were wondering."

"No. For example, 'sucking him off'." Some asshole, probably Ray while drunk, had apparently taught Mrr'sha to do air quotes. "You don't actually take him into your mouth, do you? It doesn't seem like it'd be very fun for either of you. How do you deal with his ridges, or him with your teeth?"

All three of the guys stared at her. 

"Uh," Ray said. The NCO course had not prepared him for this.

"Although your teeth aren't that impressive, I suppose."

"You know what," Ray said, "that seems more like a Doc question than a me question."

"I ain't touching this," Walt agreed. 

"We don't have ridges on our dicks," Trombley said. "Like, there's kind of a knob at the end, but not really?"

Mrr'sha frowned. "In that case, regular sex doesn't seem like it would be fun either."

"That's what his girl said," Walt said. 

"Hey!"

As Trombley tried to explain some of the finer points of male human anatomy, Ray became aware of a growing and irritating noise coming from around the corner. Not the buzz of a mosquito or the hiss of a bad subspace receiver, but shrill complaining tones of a certain master sergeant. Ray tipped his chair back and stealthily took a peek over there. Sure enough, Griego was holding court with a few junior enlisted who clearly were the sort of lame-ass motherfuckers who'd hang out with the boss just to get into his good graces. Staff Sergeant sh'Siram from Delta was there too with a couple of her folk, demonstrating that even so-called warrior races could fail to recognize an elephant turd masquerading as a soldier. From the state of their glasses and whiskey bottles, they were all assholes who had no idea which drinks you slammed and which were supposed to be savored. 

"Is that?" Mrr'sha started, ears cocking.

"Ignore them," Ray ordered. It sounded like they were mostly bitching about the assholes over in the RCT anyway.

"Ignore what?" Trombley asked.

"Nothing," Walt said with a glance at Ray. "So Trombley, I gotta ask. When you shot down that dropship, what were you thinking?"

"I don't know why everyone complains," Trombley grumbled. "I had a good angle so I took the shot."

"Yeah, but didn't you notice why it was so good? Or maybe think about where the debris would end up?"

Walt managed to keep their baby psycho distracted for a while, but during that same stretch the dynamic duo next door started in on topics closer to home. Blah blah, no one likes us reservists because we're slow fuckups only good for guarding the LZ. Bitch bitch, everyone liked Mike Wynn better and expects me to do my job and keep our overgrown dog of a commander from bombing us all. Ray would give Encino Man this much: at least he didn't whine all the time, even if that was possibly because he was too stupid and too enthusiastic about his job to notice when he was being mocked.

"Don't even get me started on Second Platoon," Griego groused. "You have no idea the sort of shit I have to put up with from them."

Trombley was many things, but he was Recon. He could pick out the name of his unit even over the noise of the crowd. He cocked his head slightly to hear better and started getting that blank, almost peaceful expression that usually presaged him shooting some fucker between the eyes from three hundred meters away.

"I don't know how you manage," sh'Siram responded.

"It's fucking terrible," Griego continued. "I get nothing but back talk. They're unreliable, too. Always off doing something else where we need them. I can't tell you how many times we've been delayed or had to reroute because they got distracted by some secondary objective."

"They're always swanning around and bragging about what hot shit they are," sh'Siram agreed in a sympathetic tone. "We're all Recon, even if some of us didn't have the luxury of completing our training before being deployed. They're no better than the rest of us."

"Try telling them that."

"I think out of all those arrogant bastards," sh'Siram said, "Person has to be the worst."

"Not Colbert?" one of the goons asked.

"Colbert earned his reputation," she replied, and Ray felt himself relax despite not realizing he'd tensed up in the first place. "I don't know what gods he angered to get surrounded so many sad excuses for rangers. Seeing a warrior like him bogged down trying to lead such dead weight is shameful." 

"No one tell Brad we heard this," Ray said in the hopes of distracting everyone. "He'd be fucking insufferable."

"No," she continued, "Person for sure. I cannot figure out what he actually does beyond get everyone lost and occasionally tune radios. Anyone could do the technical work, but he keeps getting tapped for it. Is it simply because they don't want to waste an actual soldier on his tasks?" 

Ray rolled his eyes, but he also was becoming uncomfortably aware that Mrr'sha's usual happy kitty-purr was turning into more of an angry subsonic tiger growl.

"We all know he's just Fick's fuckboy," Griego agreed. "Far as I can tell, he had one trick that let him get on that first mission, and he used that chance to show Fick he could use his mouth for more than spewing bullshit."

Trombley started to slide out of his chair, murder in his eyes. More than usual, that was. Walt grabbed his arm. "Let's not spend the rest of our leave in lockup, okay?"

"Come on," Ray said. "I saw another place around the block that looked like it had fewer shitweasels ruining the mood." 

He nudged Mrr'sha's fat furry ass until she got a move on. Mostly he wanted to find somewhere he could drink peace without having to listen to bullshit and worry that Trombley would get drunk enough to actually strangle a senior NCO. It'd take a lot more than what Griego could ever come up with to actually get under Ray's skin. Brad could throw out something more scathing without even thinking about it, and usually he didn't even want to actually hurt anyone's feelings. Calling Ray a whore was not only about as basic as you could get, it was mostly an insult to actual sex workers, because any of them would probably take one look at him and tell him their profession had higher standards.

Unfortunately for everyone, the shape of the tavern meant that Griego was between them and the exit, and it was a bit hard to move a seven-foot cat through a crowd without causing a disturbance. He spotted them before they got halfway to the door. Ray avoided making eye contact and made sure to chivvy his peeps along the next aisle over.

"Can't agree that Person's the worst, though," Griego said as they walked past, raising his voice enough to draw attention from surrounding tables. "A bedwarmer's useful for at least one thing. Fick, though? Far as I can tell, the only thing that coward's good at is finding reasons for his platoon to hide somewhere there's no shooting."

Ray stopped. Turned around. He felt a strange serenity as he walked back to Griego's table, a state of blind fury so uplifting that he was almost having an out of body experience. Maybe the reason Brad was so preternaturally calm all the time wasn't that he had Vulcan mumbo-jumbo drilled into his head as a teen. Maybe he was just in a permanent state of hyper-rage. It would explain a few things..

"Sorry, I think i misheard something," Ray said with a manic grin. Griego and his cronies scrambled to their feet as he stopped in front of them. Trombley and Walt took up positions to either side of him, and behind there was a low rumble like an idling chainsaw. "What's that you said about Lieutenant Fick?"

There was a growing zone of silence as every eye and ear in the place turned their way. Even the drunkest Ranger and most pacifist blueshirt Fleetie knew there were only two ways this conversation ended. The sane way involved an apology or at least a statement that Ray had in fact misheard and the sergeant had meant some other lieutenant.

Because Griego had no fucking sense and was such a fucking failure as a ranger that he didn't pay any attention to the two hundred-kilo cat in the room, he got up in Ray's face and said, "Your lieutenant's a coward who asks for these special missions because he knows no one can call him on whatever heroic bullshit he writes in his reports. You're a coward too, and you probably give your ass up to him just so you can stay safe instead of fighting with the rest of us. You're all cowards for going along with it."

"Don't kill anyone," Ray said in a flat voice he barely recognized. He feinted towards Griego's face with his right hand and slammed his left into his gut. 

What happened after that was a bit of a blur. Griego might have been a terrible excuse for a leader but he still had his share of asskissers, who all took offense to him being assaulted and came at Ray. Trombley laid one out flat, Mrr'sha screamed and leaped on sh'Shiram, and Walt, bless his gentle heart, kicked someone right in the nads. After the second or third table got turned over, other patrons started joining in the fray, either picking sides or just hitting anyone nearby, and things quickly escalated into a full-on open melee. Ray was very pleased with how the team managed to maintain a tight formation and good order, although it didn't keep them from taking some pretty substantial hits. Some asshole wacked Ray right in the chest with a chair, which he thought was really poor form for a friendly brawl.

Sadly, his anger didn't start to subside until it was too late to stage a hasty retreat. Ray found himself shouting for everyone to stand down as the shore patrol showed up and started to wade in with liberal use of their stun batons. The four of them were hauled across town and thrown into a too-small cell in the drunk tank, right in front of the guard station where a bored local cop could keep an eye directly on them. 

Over the next couple hours, officers and sergeants in varied states of rage and undress stomped through to collect people, until only they were left behind. Ray was not looking forward to explaining why his face was black and blue and his ribs were bruised, especially if doing so meant someone had hauled Nate and Brad away from their own fun.

"Your officer's here to pick you up," the guard said after a while, hitting the switch to deactivate the force field. 

"Okay, guys, just let me do the talking, right?" Ray told his team, getting off the bench and wincing as he pulled something his ribs. "There's not a chance in hell he's going to go any easier on me, but I'm senior. Let me take the fire."

"That's correct, Sergeant Person," a gravelly female voice said. "You are senior in this misbegotten excuse for a team."

"Oh, shit," Ray said. "Oh, _shit_".

Ray was prepared for Brad to be disappointed. He was prepared for Nate's fiery anger to be directed at him. He was prepared for screaming by the sergeant-major. A fucking rear admiral showing up to personally ream him out had not been in his wildest nightmares.

"There I was on the beach," Soltani said, sweeping into view. She was out of uniform, wearing a beautifully embroidered gold and crimson sari. "Enjoying the first day I've actually gotten off since this godforsaken war started. Then who should call but my chief of staff, to inform me that an individual I have flagged has been arrested by the shore patrol. For _brawling_."

Ray swallowed and opened his mouth, but for the first time in his life he couldn't think of a thing to say. He was impressed by the sheer amount of disgust she managed to cram into two syllables.

"Destruction of property. Multiple injuries requiring medical attention. A senior NCO, I understand, had his nose broken and was bitten." Soltani sighed deeply and pointed at the door. "Go back to your rooms and dream about how disappointed your parents will be when they hear of the shame you've brought on your families. Speak to no one until a responsible adult comes for you."

Ray didn't need a specific instruction to remain. He pulled himself into as close to attention as he could manage given how his ribs hurt, staring at a point on the wall. She coughed loudly at the cop and pointed more emphatically, and once he was gone she took his chair and dragged it around the desk to sit down. 

"I must admit, Sergeant, that despite your reputation as a loud-mouthed, uncultured swine, I expected better of you. I've read the shore patrol's report, including a rather emphatic statement from Master Sergeant Griego about his attempted murder. I would like to hear your version of events."

Ray started running through what had happened, trying to keep it as detached and objective as he could. He treated it like an after-action report: just the facts of what had happened and why he had acted the way he had, without any of his usual editorializing. He already knew just how badly he may have fucked up. Doing anything that might even be vaguely considered lying to a flag officer could only make things worse.

"I accept full responsibility for what happened," he finished, mouth dry from how long it had taken. "I shouldn't have interacted with Griego, and I should have removed my guys from the scene as soon as it was apparent that things were getting hostile."

Soltani nodded. "Thank you, Sergeant. That seemed comprehensive. The next question is, what should we do with you?"

Ray had to look down. His NCO course had taught him the answer to that. Starfleet usually had a live and let live attitude towards what happened out of uniform, and a certain amount of drunken scuffling was to be expected, but there were limits to their beneficence. "Article Fifteen proceeding. Reduction in rank, thirty days confinement, sixty days restriction. Or a court-martial on formal charges, if they push the deadly force thing."

Griego would try, too, and Encino Man would roll right along with it as usual. He'd get caught in his own fire once what he said was on record, but that wouldn't save Ray or anyone else.

"What about your lieutenant? Your platoon sergeant? One could argue such flagrant and wide-spread act of misbehavior is a sure sign of poor leadership and failure to maintain discipline. Particularly given that one is your lover and the other is, by all accounts, a close friend."

"Hit me with whatever you want, ma'am," Ray said, meeting her eyes and holding onto his composure by his mental fingernails. "Bust me to recruit and send me off to some penal colony. I won't contest the charges as long as you leave them out of it."

"Well. At least you show some fucking self-awareness and a sliver of responsibility. Sit down, you look like you're about to pass out." Soltani waited for him to ease himself back on the bench. "This incident will be made to disappear. There will be no formal disciplinary action against any involved. I cannot have your usefulness to Starfleet impaired because of one bad decision. Do not expect such mercy again. You are not irreplaceable."

"Yes, Admiral."

"You and I will decide on some appropriate penance. What Lt. Fick does to your fellow miscreants is up to him."

"Ma'am, that's," Ray swallowed again. "I'm grateful. I swear to Jesus I am. But that's going to make things worse. Lean on battalion all you want, no one's going to forget this happened. Least of all our company CO and sergeant. They'll find some way to break us."

"What would you have me do?"

"You can't keep sending us one place and the rest of the company somewhere else. It leaves them short and breeds a lot of bad feelings. It'd be one thing if the other platoons got missions too, that's normal for Recon. I don't think Alpha's dropped the same place together more than twice since Torros. No one trusts the rest of Bravo to find their own asses, so it doesn't happen with them. If you need me that bad, transfer me to a unit that does it full time."

"Your value to me is as part of a team with Fick and Colbert, with a platoon for support. Transferring you all off to Special Missions would leave First Recon with a hole in its ranks for the times you're not needed. We can barely keep enough recon-trained rangers available as it is."

"I'm just a grunt, ma'am. That sounds like a policy issue way above my level. I can only tell you what the problem is."

"Next time you come across a problem, try to bring it to my attention in a way that involves less violence." Soltani stood. "Let's find you a medic. Nathaniel has enough stress in his life without you turning up at your hotel room black and blue."

"I can take care of that myself."

"Clearly you can't," she scoffed. They passed from the cold detention block out into the warm tropical night. "You're worse than my fucking daughter."

"Has anyone actually told the LT about our…?"

"Fracas? Affray? Miniature riot? No. Thus far most of your command structure is ignorant. Consider having to tell him yourself the first part of your punishment."

"Fuck. Are you sure you can't just shoot me?"

"You're not escaping that easily."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't look so glum. You're hardly the first idiot in Starfleet to get into a bar fight. I may have participated in one or two in my time. If I'm ever desperate enough to socialize with you of my own free will, I'll tell you about this idiot in my graduating class who got himself stabbed through the heart."

"Yes, ma'am."

"If anything, I should be glad you're not an Andorian. By their standards, you'd have been justified killing that slanderous fucker where he stood. That would have been a real mess to clean up." She paused momentarily. "Did you really bite him?"

"He shouldn't have put his hand on my mouth. Fucking rookie mistake."

The only bright points were that she summoned a medic from the on-duty pool, meaning Doc Bryan didn't murder him for disturbing his leave, and that his roomies hadn't gotten back yet by the time he reached their hotel. He fell into the bed before it was even local midnight.

Ray woke up the next morning to find Brad and Nate had returned at some point in the night and were having breakfast without him. Apparently a little shitkicking made Ray sleep like a baby. He made an incoherent greeting noise as he staggered past them to the bathroom for a quick shower.

"You look like you had a rough night," Brad said as Ray stumbled back out and over to the replicator for coffee and grub. "Have too much to drink?"

"I wish."

"I hope the other guy looks as bad," Nate said. 

"Yeah. About that." Ray started guzzling his coffee while trying to think of a good opener. He his normal options of humor and morbid humor didn't seem quite appropriate for saying, 'hey, FYI, I almost destroyed our careers last night, but I made a deal with the devil.' 

There was a knock at the door. Nate got up to answer it and found a redshirt on the other side.

"Lt. Fick?" she said, pulling a PADD from a courier satchel at her side. "Message from headquarters, sir. Thumbprint here, please."

"Thanks, crewman." Nate accepted it and turned it on, reading as he walked back to them. He suddenly stopped a few feet away.

"I wonder if command understands the idea of leave," Brad griped. "This is the second time they've dropped something on you."

"They're moving Schwetje and Griego over to help rebuild Charlie Company," Nate said, staring down at the PADD. 

"Fucking finally," Brad replied. "These temporary assignments keep getting less and less temporary. I understand Starfleet has never been overflowing with quality infantry officers, but you would expect them to issue us with some that can read a paper map. Who are the replacements?"

"Us. They're brevetting you to master sergeant and putting me in command of the company."

Ray got a sinking feeling in his stomach, even as Brad laughed and said, "Very funny, sir."

"We are so fucked," Ray said. "What sort of fucking missions has she got that she wants an entire company for?"

"She?" Brad said, starting to frown. 

"The admiral! The one who keeps choosing us for increasingly dangerous side missions into enemy territory! I told her sending Second Platoon out all by our lonesome was making the other kids feel left out and now she's convinced the assholes at battalion to send us on even worse ones."

"When the fuck did you talk to an admiral?" Brad demanded. "We were gone for eight fucking hours."

"So. This is either going to sound a lot worse than it was, or a lot better than it was."

As Ray told his tale, he watched their reactions closely. Brad looked briefly delighted, before he got his expression back under control. Nate just looked increasingly grim. 

"Brad. Give us a few minutes, will you," Nate said quietly. 

Brad slowly rose to his feet. "I'll go check on the rest of our misfit children."

"Tell them to enjoy the rest of their leave," Nate told him. "Because once I'm back on the clock and figure out what to do with them, they're not going to enjoy anything else for a long time."

"Aye, sir. I'll let them know dad's angry and mom's not going to save them this time."

There was silence for a minute after the door closed behind him. 

"I want to say that I'm not mad, just disappointed," Nate finally said in a flat voice, "but I'm actually pretty furious right now."

"Yeah, I figured. I fucked up pretty badly."

"You put yourself at risk. Your team at risk."

"Don't forget you and Brad."

"I don't give a shit about career consequences. Someone could have been killed. But since you brought it up, you are no longer responsible for just yourself. There is a war on. You have an obligation to Starfleet and to the citizens of the Federation to make the best possible use of your abilities, and you cannot do that if you are locked in the fucking stockade because you acted like a boot on his first libo and got into a bar fight with fellow Rangers. Because of an insult."

"It wasn't just an insult. He called you a coward."

"That just makes it worse." Nate sighed deeply and in a very un-LT-like gesture covered his face with his hand. "Is this because we're dating?"

"No. Stop right there," Ray snapped. "Maybe I did it because we're fucking. I don't know. The other guys sure as fuck didn't. Our first op, you did your best to die for us, and this shitbird drops in from a support unit and starts calling you a coward? You're fucking right I lost my shit. If you think there's a man in this platoon who wouldn't throw down over that, you're delusional."

"I don't give two fucks about what someone like Griego says about me. I'll act with honor and my reputation will take care of itself."

"Maybe you should care. I am the last person to worry about meaningless motivational bullshit, but even I know you don't let people toss around that kind of accusation about your unit. You're the only reason our platoon aren't a bunch of sad sacks like the rest of the company, and we'll fucking well make that clear to everyone else."

Nate's shoulders started to shake. "Are you saying," he choked out, raspy anger quickly being replaced with amusement, "that this was just a morale-building exercise?"

"Fuck. Why the fuck didn't I think of saying that first?" Ray said, laughing a little himself. "If anyone asks when we're back on the ship, that's definitely what happened. I was preemptively letting the rest of Bravo know that shit's not going to fly under new management."

"A justification worthy of an officer."

Ray relaxed. "We good?"

"Once I'm being your commander again," Nate said, "I'm going to order Brad to scream at you and send you to the counsellor. But Nate and Ray are good."

"Mind if I ask a question? If some other lieutenant called me a coward, how would you react?"

Nate had the good grace to look sheepish and reply truthfully. "He'd wake up missing teeth. Oh, fuck, other lieutenants. I'm going to have to supervise McGraw, aren't I?"

"Sorry."

"You can't actually be to blame for this. It has to have been in the works for a while. The timing is just a coincidence."

"So since we're done with the emotional discussion," Ray said after a minute of contemplating the horrible alternative of an admiral listening to his advice, "and Brad's out for at least a little while, you want to discipline me in a different way?"

"One of these days, I'm actually going to beat your ass, and you're going to realize it's not as much fun as it sounds."

Three weeks later, Bravo Company dropped on Vorash and spent a month being chased around swamps by the fucking Jem'hadar, but at least they had two fewer idiots along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's probably all I'm going to write for the actual Dominion War, except maybe a small thing from Nate's POV. Next time: they're on a spaceship.


End file.
